


The God Killer

by static_abyss



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Background Relationships, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Communication, Ensemble Cast, Families of Choice, Gen, Minor Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko, Mission Fic, Non-Linear Narrative, POV Alternating, Past Relationship(s), Post-Canon, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:53:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 57,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29612484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/static_abyss/pseuds/static_abyss
Summary: When Copley first learns of the God Killer, a new drug promising euphoria and invincibility, he doesn't think much about it. The Old Guard isn't in the business of catching drug traffickers, after all. But when he learns that people who shouldn't have started dying of old age, the job suddenly seems more up their alley than he originally thought. With only what Copley's been able to glean from his files, the Old Guard embarks on a journey to track down the warehouse manufacturing the new drug and to find out who's behind the sudden deaths. What follows is intrigue, mystery, and more introspection than is required before Andy's morning drink. Can the Old Guard stop the production of the God Killer before it's too late? And who will they be when they come out on the other side?
Relationships: Andy | Andromache & Booker | Sebastien & Nile Freeman & Joe | Yusef & Nicky | Nicolò, Andy | Andromache of Scythia & Nile Freeman, Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Nile Freeman, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 52
Kudos: 36
Collections: The Old Guard Big Bang





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I want to thank the Unofficial Big Bang discord server for keeping me company through this entire process. When I originally thought up this idea, it was slightly different than what it turned out to be, both in word count and the direction of the story. Still, I've enjoyed writing this fic and I hope that other people enjoy it too. 
> 
> Thanks as always to [Leah](https://pineau-noir.tumblr.com/) who has been with me in all of my stories for a good long while now. Thanks also to [Gine](https://missgine.tumblr.com/) for all of your help and support and for that tumblr post that I will link in the appropriate chapter. And, of course, thanks to Smith, the artist who created lovely headers for every chapter and a playlist that you can all listen to while reading this fic. 
> 
> I tagged the fic with all the relevant tags for the entire work as I will be posting all chapters today. But for the sake of clarification, I wanted to expand on the tags. Canon-typical violence includes, use of guns, immortals dying and coming back, discussions of death and how people find out they're immortal, suicidal ideation with regards to Booker, and immortals fighting crime. There is also discussion of drug use and human experimentation, though all of it is inexplicit and not discussed in detail.

_Sunday, 08 October 2021  
2245_

Booker is dead.

Which means it worked. Which means that low agonizing cry is coming from Nile, that she's the one running for the obsidian pills. Andy watches her go, all of her movements seemingly in slow motion. Nile makes it to the table, her fingers wrapping around the clear crystal bottle as she draws her gun. 

Nicky's the one to stop her, his hand catching the side of her arm on a downward swing, knocking the gun and the bottle to the floor, pills scattering at their feet. They struggle, Nile diving downwards while Nicky yanks her up. There's screaming, something deep and guttural, madness everywhere as Nicky holds Nile close and Joe turns toward Andy. She doesn't know how to answer the pain in his eyes so she looks away, her eyes landing on Booker, crumpled on the ground. 

He's mostly on his side, his body slumped forward. Andy looks away from the wound on his head, focusing instead on his closed eyes. From this distance, he could be sleeping.

_Someone should be with Booker_ , Andy thinks. 

She goes to him, dropping to her knees at his side, even as she hears a quiet grunt from Nicky that means Nile's pulled free. Andy pushes his hair away from his face and tries not to flinch at how warm he still is. She stays with him, knowing that even after everything, he doesn't deserve to be alone. She reaches out just in case, touches her fingers to his neck, and feels nothing. 

Finally, she understands.


	2. Shifting Dynamics

_Sunday, 01 October 2021_

Andy wakes to the sun in her eyes, her curtains pulled aside even though she remembers closing them the night before. She's lying on top of Nile's blue comforter, her pillows strewn around her so that she's almost in a nest. She shifts, hears the sound of a thick glass bottle hitting the floor, and groans, throwing one arm over her eyes to keep the blinding light out. She's starting to remember what happened the night before and why her eyes feel as though they're bruised. She remembers Nicky, face set into a blank expression, dropping a handful of bills on top of their coffee table, and saying, "I can outdrink you."

In retrospect, Andy knows she should have called it off when Nicky passed out on the couch, his head hanging off the end, one arm stuck in between the couch cushions. But she clearly remembers Booker laughing as Nile set down Joe's Hello Kitty mug on the table and tagged in. 

Really, what was she supposed to do? 

Even a year after the lab and Merrick, even after Andy's gotten banged up and bruised and survived, they're all still on edge. Last night was the first time in a long time that Andy felt normal. She hadn't felt vulnerable and breakable, and if the cost of some fucking normalcy was a hangover from hell, it's a small price to pay. 

She stretches, feels her muscles protesting the daily workouts they've been getting. It takes more than usual to keep up, her body healing slower, needing more care. She should really stop drinking. But she yawns, the midday sun warming her face, and she thinks that she'll quit another day. She's too comfortable to move from her bed, even though she can hear the others stirring in the living room. 

She has vague memories of leaving them piled together on the couch, Nicky's feet across Booker's knees, Nile curled up in the space between Booker and the couch arm. Joe standing next to her, watching them, a small amused smile on his face as he took a picture on his phone. 

"For blackmail purposes," he said, winking at Andy.

She didn't have time to say much before Joe snapped her picture, dancing out of her way when she made to take his phone. She let him keep it, the same way she lets the rest of them keep the snapshots they take of her when they think she isn’t paying attention. She's always paying attention is the thing, always aware of how they look at her, how every one of them seems to be memorizing her movements. She gets it in a detached way, that fear of losing someone close. But she used to be so tired, exhausted of thinking of forever, of the way the years felt heavy and burdensome, just more of the same endless bullshit. It's better now. She feels better thinking that there's an end, that she can rest, that every moment she exists and breathes is special because her life is finite. They can't begrudge her that. 

She turns to her window, lets the blue sky and the bustling of a populated city wash over her. The morning is beautiful, the sky a bright blue that promises a warm late fall day. She thinks she'll go for a run despite her headache, let herself feel the sea air as she tries to dodge the tourists on their eco-friendly bicycles. She might ask Nile to go with her, just to push herself, because she knows Nile doesn't hold back when they go running together. Nile, out of all of them, has handled Andy's mortality the best, either because she's the newest and more familiar with mortality, or because she's simply more empathetic than the rest of them. 

Andy thinks both those things are the same in a way. 

She does get up eventually because she knows herself, knows that if she stays in bed longer, she'll start thinking of the years she has left, of the things she hasn't done, and the things she won't have time to do. If she stays in bed, she'll think about Quynh and the shape of her mouth, the way the wind blew her hair into her face, how she'd laugh as she tied it up. If Andy stays in bed, she's never getting up because time is a fickle thing and it figures that now that she has little of it left, she wants more. 

It's better not to think as she makes her way across the mess on her floor to the bathroom. This bedroom is supposed to be hers, but among the pile of her belongings, there's Joe's scimitar and Nicky's favorite dagger, Nile's dog tags, and Booker's old flask. Everywhere she turns, she can find traces of them, little reminders that they know who she is and choose to stay with her. That despite their hesitations and fears, they've seen her at her worst and haven't left. 

She can't give them the promise of forever anymore, but she's coming to learn that none of them ever expected it from her in the first place. They've been in the same fight together since the beginning, and no matter how long any of them have left, they'll stay with each other to the bitter end.

-

Nile wakes to Booker's head on her shoulder, his mouth slightly open as he snores. Her left arm is numb, but in spite of that and the number of shots she took last night, she feels great. Good enough to ease her way out from under Nicky's feet and Booker's head. She leaves him and Nicky on the couch, both of them shifting without waking. It still surprises her how they can tell the difference between the sounds of home and the sounds of danger. She doesn't doubt that if anyone else walked through the door, Nicky and Booker would both be awake and ready to fight in a second. It works the same for everyone to some extent, though no one wakes as easily as Nicky. 

But they're home now, or in another safe house at the edge of the Mediterranean sea, where the sun shines bright and skies disappear into the water in the distance. She likes it here, the quiet of the mornings soothing her as she makes her way across the spacious living room. Their home sits at the corner of the street closest to the beach, surrounded on all sides by vacation homes. 

It's a two-floor, white-stone, modern home with a sub-basement that serves as a parking garage. From the outside, it looks imposing, this massive mash of glass and stone, with its wide windows overlooking the short flight of stairs leading to the front entrance. To the far sides of the house, there are more stairs that lead to the left and right sides, entrances that were made before Andy bought it and turned the two-family home into one. 

Now, the front entrance leads to the living room, which sits directly in the middle of the house, two bedrooms, a family room and a kitchen on the left, and two bedrooms and the den on the right side. The living room itself is an open-floor concept with a set of staircases on the right that lead to a small upper loft that serves as a library. The living room is made for brightness, from its sunroof to the wide windows, it floods with natural light when they let it. And because their house sits on an incline, when they pull open the curtains, they have a view of the beach and the chattering tourists in the distance. 

The actual property is under Copley's name, and if anyone followed the paper trail, they wouldn't find anything out of the ordinary. Nile hadn't actually understood everything Copley did but Andy seemed satisfied. Nile hopes they're safe because she's gotten used to having her own room, a place that they come home to, that feels like theirs. There are no bloodied carpets in Malta. No one's been stitched under shitty phone flashlights while the tea kettle whistles in the kitchen. In Matla, there are no crumbling stone walls or dead mercenaries. In Malta, the air smells like seawater and heat, a soothing mixture that reminds Nile of days at the beach, lying next to her mother while her brother did laps in the water. 

Nile sighs as she makes her way past the floor-to-ceiling windows and toward the right side of the house. For almost as long as they've been in Malta, she's been trying to push back the memories of her mother's heartbroken expression on the day her father died. It's harder on days when they're resting, when Nile's had a good day and she falls asleep content. The problem is that she wakes the next morning and she's not home. Her mother isn't waiting for her in the kitchen, her hair wrapped, coffee in hand. There's no dim lighting or yellowed kitchen walls, no buzz of the neighborhood coming alive. There's no way for Nile to keep together her family when she's in Malta, swallowed by the peace of her new home.

Malta's quiet early in the mornings and the house they're in is vast and empty. That their things are spread out made it worse in the beginning. There was something sad about her go bag sitting in the corner of the bedroom above Andy's. She knows the others felt it too, because their things started showing up in Andy's room: a sword here, a knife there, a toothbrush behind the bathroom mirror. Nile knows Andy tolerates it because she thinks they need it. 

Nile can't begin to imagine how people who've lived over a thousand years would look at the forty years Andy has left. She can't imagine how Nicky and Joe, especially, feel about those forty years in comparison to the thousand they've been with Andy. Nile can't decide if it's worse because they've lived so long or if it makes it easier. If the deaths they've seen over and over have prepared them for losing someone they love. She's inclined to think that it doesn't make it easier, the same way it isn't easier on Booker, who's only been alive for a few hundred years. A loss is a loss and Nile's always carried hers close to heart.

It feels like they're all mourning and she knows that must grate on Andy's nerves, her quick temper much shorter these days. But Andy doesn't say anything and if she won't, then no one else has a right to bring it up. Andy knows what she's doing. Like last night, when she picked up the bottle of vodka and gave Nicky a look, and suddenly, there were bills on the table and two half-full glasses. 

Nile saw the implosion coming from a mile away, but she knew better than to make a comment about how Andy had to be more careful with her body now. Because Andy was better the last few weeks, even if she's quicker to anger, and if she needed to get drunk to feel better, then who was Nile to stop her, who was Nile to say no when Andy held out the bottle. Apart from that, Andy's a grown woman, and she looked like she needed a distraction. So Nile drank too, knowing full well that she was enabling Booker and Andy's destructive habit. It's why she's going to check on Andy, just to see how she's handling her hangover. 

She walks through the den to get to Andy's room, down the hallway, and past the door that has their washing machines. Andy's room is at the end of the hall, a single throwing star sticking out of the center of her door. Nile's sure it's from the set Booker lost last month, though she doubts anyone's going to ask Andy about it. Booker still owes her from their last game of Monopoly.

When she pushes the door open, it's to the usual mess of pillows and sheets on the mattress at the center of the room. Past the bed, the blinds are thrown wide open, the sun streaming in straight onto Andy's bed. She winces in sympathy at old memories of hangovers, and she's not surprised to hear the shower running in the bathroom to her left. 

"Andy," she calls, eyeing the pile of swords on the dresser, opposite the bed. "Are you good?"

"No," Andy calls back. "I have a fucking headache."

Nile laughs at the affronted anger in Andy's voice. "Maybe you shouldn't have drunk so much last night," she says, loud enough that she knows Andy can hear her. "What was the worst thing that would have happened if you lost?"

Nile kicks a shoe out of the way, recognizing it as the one Nicky lost last week. Everywhere she turns, there are signs of all of them, Booker's favorite laptop, Nicky's daggers, Joe's books, and Nile's newest phone. She shakes her head and picks it up, knowing that she doesn't need it. These days the only people who call her are all in this house with her, and Copley knows to reach out to Nicky if Nile misses his calls. 

She turns on the phone, the battery sign blinking twenty percent at her. There's a missed call, and Nile's mind is already two steps ahead, trying to work out how fast they can leave. Copley knows they're on vacation, and if he's calling anyway, it means there's an emergency. 

She calls his number and listens as the call goes to voicemail. She hangs up and almost at once, her phone lights up with a text message that says, _22:00_.

She's texting back when Andy comes out of the bathroom, dressed to go running. Nile takes one look at her and shakes her head. 

"You know," she says. "My mother always told me I'd catch a cold going out with wet hair."

Andy raises an eyebrow. "It's hot out."

"I know," Nile says, tucking her phone into her jeans pocket. "I didn't say it was true. Just said that my mom would say that you should dry your hair."

Andy stares at her. It's always fifty-fifty whether she'll take the out Nile's giving her. Honestly, Andy looks like shit, bags prominent under her eyes and her face paler than usual. She should be sleeping, lazing away her time until she recovers from their last mission. A run can wait. But Nile knows that Andy's stubborn as hell and she's angry that she has to take care of herself, that limits exist now. That she's suddenly more human and, therefore, more breakable than the rest of them. 

"Do we have breakfast?" Andy asks, patting herself down as she looks for her phone. 

"We can, if we order something," Nile says, watching Andy pull pillows off her bed and toss them onto the floor. 

"The yogurt from the other day?" Andy asks, finally digging her phone out from between her mattress and headboard. 

"I can do that," Nile says.

She has to open her phone to order, so she sees Copley's message again, thinks about telling Andy and decides against it. They all need a break and Copley will call later. 

She orders everyone breakfast from their favorite American-inspired diner, and sends a message on their group chat letting them know that it's Booker's turn to order dinner. Then she heads out into the den, knowing that Andy will come to them when she's ready.

Outside of Andy's room, it's easy to hear the sounds of arguing coming from the living room. It sounds good-natured enough that Nile takes the time to open the blinds in the den. She likes the way the light fills the room, the beige walls making everything seem larger. That she has a home with a den still hits her hard some days. There's a library on the loft above the living room, a kitchen, a den, four bedrooms, three bathrooms, a basement and a garage, and all of it so clearly expensive, Nile doesn't know how she should feel about the obvious display of wealth. 

Andy wanted a home after everything went down with Merrick, a place where she could grow old, and at the end of the day, Nile isn't going to deny the comfort of this mansion. Besides, they need a home to come back to, something more than safe houses tucked into run-down buildings or hidden to the sides of unused train tracks. This place is good for them, full of life, the sounds of Nicky and Booker and Joe coming from the living room.

Nile turns toward the noises. She can hear Booker arguing with Nicky, Joe laughing as the TV plays in the background. When she steps into the living room, she finds Nicky and Booker squished into the armchair in front of the TV, the remote in Booker's hand as he tries to hold it out of Nicky's way. 

"What?" she asks.

"Nile," Booker says, dropping the remote. "Football or British Bake-Off?"

Nile turns to Joe, who shrugs. She knows that Joe and Booker both want to watch the game, and that the only reason there's even an argument is because Nicky's the one that doesn't want to watch it. If it were anyone else, they'd be outvoted simply by virtue of not being Nicky. 

"So you're losing here?" Nile asks, raising her eyebrows in disbelief.

Nicky gives her a small smile and says, "Not yet."

Booker and Joe both turn to her at the same time, twin expressions of hope on their faces. "I like Bake-Off," she says. 

"Fine," Booker says, sliding out from the armchair and going to sit on the couch next to it. 

The bottles of vodka and the empty shot glasses are gone from the coffee table, and there's even a blanket over the back of the couch. She doesn't need anyone to tell her it was Booker, because it's always Booker. Ever since he came back, and even though they've all forgiven him, he's been doing everything he can to be helpful. Nile gets it, but she's tired of mints in the bathroom and blankets all over the place. Besides, they wouldn't have asked Booker back if they hadn't meant it. 

"You know," Nile says, watching Booker flick through the channels on the TV. "We haven't asked Andy what she wants to see yet."

"Ask me what?" 

"Boss," Joe says, as they all turn as one to Andy. "You made it."

Andy rolls her eyes but she's smiling as she makes her way into the room. She takes a seat next to Booker, spreading out on the couch, her arm hanging over the back, her eyes on the TV. 

"Are you guys voting on what we're going to watch?" she asks, nonchalantly. 

Nile doesn't buy it for a second. She knows better than to assume that Andy's okay with the way they've brushed her aside, the way everyone keeps asking Nile for her opinion, how they're already shifting their center. It's not mean-spirited. Andy herself told Nile, the week after Merrick, that she wanted to make sure that by the time it was her turn to go, they didn't need her anymore. But Nile knows the sting of losing something so central to herself, to exist in one role and have to find something else to replace it. She's been there, alone on her first day of bootcamp, wondering who she was supposed to be if she didn't have to protect her mother and brother. 

She can see Booker working out that something's wrong. Of all of them, Booker's always been most attuned to the shifts in Andy's moods because he understands her in a way the rest of them can't. He knows the ache of losing the things you love, whether they're buried at sea or dying of cancer. He can feel the weight of eternity, the way it settles into Andy's bones and drags her down. The rest of them can imagine but they don't know the way Booker does, because despite her losses, Nile's always believed that good things will come, and Nicky and Joe have always had each other, always had backup when they needed it. But Booker knows something of the desperation Andy's felt for so long, so even if he doesn't know what's wrong, he can tell something's off. 

He looks between Andy and Nile, a slight frown on his face. Andy very carefully doesn't look at Nile and Nile isn't going to be the one to start that conversation. Not right now. That's what the runs are for, to work out the kinks in Andy's new mortal life and Nile's immortal one, to lament about their new places in the world. What happens on those runs stays in the runs, and it isn't Nile's place to speak for Andy. 

But she can understand the feeling of being left behind, so she looks at Andy and asks, "British Bake-Off or soccer?"

Andy shifts her gaze from the TV to Nile. They look at each other a moment, Nile content to wait Andy out. It only takes a few seconds before Andy exhales, her shoulders relaxing. She's half-laughing as she says, "British Bake-Off."

"Everything all right, Andy?" Booker asks.

Andy doesn't say yes right away and Booker's frown grows deeper. Nile sighs, making her way to the other end of the couch, in between Booker and the armrest. She can see Joe making himself comfortable in front of Nicky's armchair, and she knows they've noticed the shift in Andy. It would be impossible not to notice that she's uncomfortable in her skin, that the bruises and the cuts from missions hit harder than they should. She's not used to pain, to needing time to heal, to being protected. Of course, she's not all right. It's never been an issue of if Andy's okay or not. The issue has always been if she's willing to talk about it out in the open, to let them help her. Nile would even take Andy telling them to fuck off over the silence she carries around their home and on missions. She prefers Andy angry to the Andy at the other end of the couch, who'd rather close herself off completely than have uncomfortable conversations.

"Andy?" Booker asks again.

"I'm all right," she says.

They all know she isn't. They can see it. But there's nothing they can do if Andy won't let them in, so Booker nods, picks up the remote, and changes the channel.

-

Booker's never been a particularly intuitive person. 

He lived his mortal life focusing on his family and their needs, heedless of what others thought about him. He did everything he could to keep his family safe. That's something he knows deep down. Everything he did, he did because he thought it would keep his wife and children safe. The rest of it—dying and coming back to life, doing it over and over again just to make sure it stuck—he did because he didn't know how to live with himself. Merrick and Copley, the lab, the testing, Andy with a bullet wound on her side, all of it was because Booker was so tired of living, because the days dragged on and the years-to-come weighed heavy on his shoulders. Forever seemed so daunting for a man who only ever wanted to protect his family and who, in the end, had been unable to do even that. 

He hates living. Existing day to day and knowing that there will be more tomorrow fills him with dread. He wants to sleep forever, to wake up when it's his time and just go. The alcohol makes it a little better because, at least when he's drinking, he can go numb for a few moments. Enough that things seem less terrible, enough that he can pretend he didn't betray every single person sitting with him around the TV. 

That they forgave him makes it worse. That he can't live without them is unbearable in the face of all the things he did. That Joe even looks at him is more than Booker knows he deserves. He should have fucking died back in France, frozen to death and been done with it. Then he wouldn't have ever met Copley, wouldn't have met Nile or seen the way she forgave so easily. 

She reminds him of his son, his youngest who'd called him " _mon papa_ " until the day he got married. He'd been kind like Nile was, forgiving and sympathetic. That's what Booker regrets the most, having involved Nile in all that mess with Merrick. She, of all of them, didn't deserve it. Because Nile, out of all of them, still believes they make a difference. 

He sighs, stretching out on the couch, his eyes on the TV in front of him. He hasn't been paying attention to what they're watching. He's more concerned about Andy and the way she keeps dozing, obviously tired. She didn't sleep unless she had to, before, and now that she's mortal again, she's had trouble breaking the habit. She's trying though, which is more than he can say about himself. At least she's trying to stay alive. 

"What?" Andy asks, her eyes still closed.

"You look like shit," he says, used to the way Andy knows him, the way she can sense his gaze. 

Next to him, Nile's doing a good impression of someone who isn't hearing every word of their conversation. But they've all been with each other too long to pretend they keep many secrets. Besides, if Andy didn't want the rest of them to hear, she'd just stop answering. 

"You've been drinking a lot recently," she says, instead.

"Touché," Joe calls from the floor. 

"Oh, are we getting involved in this conversation, then?" Nile asks.

"No," Andy says.

"Yes," Booker says at the same time. 

Andy glares at them, but Booker can tell her heart isn't in it. If they push now, she'll tell them what's wrong. 

"What is it, boss?" Nicky asks. 

Booker catches the shift in Andy's expression because he's paying attention. He sees her wince on the word "boss," the way she glances at Nile almost against her will, and in a moment of clarity, Booker understands. He looks at Andy but she's watching the TV, her jaw set as she looks at the bakers rushing around the baking tent. 

"You're not dead yet," Booker says.

He means that she doesn't have to worry that they're replacing her, but his heart isn't in it, because at the end of the day, Andy is mortal. In a few years, Booker will have lost someone else who matters to him, maybe even the person who knows him best, who loves him despite his shitty personality. He's angry that one day, they'll be sitting around calling Nile "boss," and Booker will still be alive while Andy isn't. He can't help the pang of jealousy he feels, like he can't help feeling guilty for all the things he's done. He's mad that Andy gets to be done, that even though she's struggling, this is the happiest he's ever seen her. He's mad that they've forgiven him, because his own family couldn't forgive him for being alive. 

He hates himself for even thinking about it, for putting any blame on his children. They deserved more than what he ever gave them and will always deserve his respect. It's the least he can do after he wasn't able to save them. But he feels like shit, and he's always so tired, and Andy's thinking about the day she's gone, and it's too much for a Thursday afternoon. 

"This is fucking depressing," he says. 

Andy laughs. "When are we anything else, Book?"

She's right, but Nile's next to him, and Booker's phone buzzes in his pocket just as Joe puts his away. He knows it's another picture of an angry rabbit, because Joe's been sending him a different one every day since they let him come back. 

Nicky gets up, and Booker knows he's going to make them all tea and possibly a snack. Booker is so tired of feeling like shit every day of his life. So he inhales and holds it until his chest hurts, and then he exhales, and nothing changes, but they're all in this together and, maybe, that's enough for today.

-

Joe doesn't hold grudges. He's quick to anger but even faster to forgive, so he really should have known that when he told Andy that he didn't want to see Booker's face ever again, he probably didn't mean it. Nicky told him, took one look at him after they all passed out for a couple of hours the day they left Booker on the beach, and said, "When you're ready to go get Booker, you can just tell me. I'll pretend it was my idea."

The biggest surprise was that he made it six months before asking Nile for Booker's new phone number. Because Nile, bless her heart, didn't understand that exile meant they weren't supposed to talk to Booker. Joe didn't have the heart to stop her, and because Nile was always off texting Booker, he figured there wasn't any harm in keeping tabs on him.

The bunnies were Nile's idea, or rather, Nile showed him a picture she found on the internet and because he didn't have anything he wanted to tell Booker just then, Joe sent him the photo of the angry rabbit. Then, because Booker didn't answer, Joe sent him another one the next day. He got an answer on the third day, a single, " _im alive_ ," and a thumbs up. 

If Joe's being honest, it was the thumbs up that got him, something about the single emoji seeming so incredibly sad. He still doesn't know how Nile found out, but she was the one who sat next to him on the couch, and asked, "So, when are we inviting Booker over for dinner?"

Without missing a beat, Nicky said, "It was my idea, so Friday is a good day."

But it was Joe who sent the message to Booker, and it was Joe who spilled the wine on Booker's lap so that Nile could usher him into the shower. And it was Joe who made sure that Booker's phone got lost in the couch cushions, so that when Nile suggested he stay the night, he had no choice but to say yes. The next morning, Joe was the one who set the alarm so that breakfast was ready by the time Booker woke up. And even though it was Nicky who asked Booker to eat with them, it was Joe who finally said, exasperated, "You might as well stay, Booker."

Which is why, even though Nicky's the one who went to make tea, it's Joe who says, "We could all really use a therapist."

And if Booker and Andy are laughing, then at least that means they're not thinking about dying or wanting to die, and some days, that's enough.

-

When Nicky comes back to the room with a teatray and a stack of cookies, he finds Booker and Andy in the middle of a fit of laughter. It doesn't take long to work out that Joe's the one who made it happen. It takes even less time to meet Joe's eyes across the room, to smile at him until Joe beams. And if there was ever a doubt in Nicky's mind that he will love Joe for the rest of his life, it's gone at the sight of Joe's pleased smile and that wink he reserves only for Nicky.

"Tea?" Nicky asks.

"You know what?" Booker says. "Yes, I'll have some tea."

They sit down together around the coffee table, the TV still on in the background even though they've stopped watching it. Joe suggests they start a game of Monopoly, and they're in the middle of an argument over who can and can't own Boardwalk, when Nile's phone rings. She looks more concerned than surprised, and Nicky knows before she picks up that it's Copley calling. 

He turns to Joe and sees the steely resolve in his eyes. They planned a trip for tomorrow, just the two of them, and Nicky's been looking forward to spending some time with Joe after the last six months of back-to-back missions. But Copley promised to call only if there was an emergency, and Nicky knows better than to think any of them are going to say no to whatever job he has for them.

"Hello," Nile says.

There's silence for a moment as Copley speaks to Nile, and the longer Nile says nothing, the more pronounced her worried frown becomes. Nicky looks at Joe, who looks at Booker, who looks at Andy. 

"I'll go get the vodka," Andy says. 

It's very telling of just how serious the situation is that Nile doesn't object. Nicky knows before Nile even says it that this isn't a job they're going to pass up.

"We should pack," he says. 

"Yeah," Nile says as she hangs up the phone. "But first, someone should get the door. Copley's waiting outside."

And some days, there's no other way to sum up their lives than the simple way Booker says, "fuck."


	3. Les Deux Marionnettes

_Friday, 29 September 2021_

The kids are the worst, Copley thinks, as he finishes scanning the file in front of him. An abduction in Siberia, one of twelve in the country over the last six months. There's no obvious link between each of the kidnappings but something about it felt off enough for Copley's old friend and co-worker, Randy, to pass the information over. So far, Copley's run into too much red tape, too many dead ends and leads that go nowhere. He needs more information before he sends the others anywhere, especially now. If anything happens to Andy because he's careless, there's no coming back from that. Besides, Copley owes them for Merrick, and as fucked up as it is, some child abductions in Siberia aren't worth phoning Nile before her vacation is over. The children will still be abducted in another month and maybe then Copley will have more leads and a connection between the missing children.

He sighs as he clicks out of the documents in front of him. From his home office, he has a clear view out to his driveway and the surrounding forest. It's sunny outside, some of the leaves on the trees just starting to turn yellow. It'll be another month before the whole area is covered in fallen foliage and the smell of wet dirt starts to permeate the air. Fall is Copley's favorite time of the year, when he only needs a sweater and maybe a hat. He likes taking walks then, enjoys the sound of crunching leaves because they remind him of his wife. She liked that autumn meant there were apple cider doughnuts at the Farmer's Market and that everything that could have pumpkin spice did. It's easier these days if Copley just leans into the pain, lets the weather bring back the memories.

He turns back to the computer and the long list of unopened emails. He's being generously compensated for the work he does. Andy comes around every once in a while to check on him and drop off his paycheck. She never comes alone, and Copley's learned to tell her moods by the person she brings with her. If it's been a particularly shitty mission, she brings Nile. If everything went well, she brings Joe. Copley thinks she's trying to balance things out. If she's amenable enough to conversation and drinks with Copley after a mission, she brings Joe to make sure that no one gets too comfortable. If she's pissed, she brings Nile because something about Nile seems to calm Andy even when she's at her most agitated. The job in Brazil definitely proved that.

It wasn't a bad job because of lack of information or because anyone was unprepared. From what Copley could tell, the Brazil job went smoothly from the moment the group touched down until they rescued the children. The issue was with the return trip. Someone made a comment about Americans in Portuguese and Nicky answered without thinking, and suddenly, there was talk of spies. 

If Copley thinks about it now, he knows he probably shouldn't have sent a group of notoriously short-tempered immortals for a ride on a drug traffickers plane. But it was an emergency and Andy wanted to get back as soon as possible. She doesn't linger these days, preferring to head back to Malta in between missions. Sometimes, one or two of the others will stay or make a stop somewhere else, but Andy always goes back. Copley thought there was something important happening in Malta and he sent them back on the first plane he could find. 

It would have been fine. They did flights on seedy airlines all the time. But Nicky didn't take kindly to being confused for an American, and then Andy got stabbed, and the whole thing ended up messy and out of hand. Copley's still paying off angry Brazillian Border Agents.

Suffice to say, he doesn't want to bother Andy or the others on their vacation. Which is why he saved the email titled "SOS, US, Switzerland, DEA" for last. It's from Randy, and the fact that he chose to add the "SOS" to the subject of the email is already making Copley's head hurt. The email about the child abductions didn't have an "SOS," which leaves one of two options for the contents in this current email. Either there is something worse than children going missing happening in Switzerland, or Randy's found enough information for a solid case, which means a solid mission, which also means that no one's going to be taking Copley's head off this time around. And even if that means he's going to be seeing a lot more of Joe these days, a good mission is a necessary thing once in a while. It keeps people from burning out.

He clicks on the email and waits for the usual fast-flow of documents that come attached to "SOS" emails from Randy. Instead, he gets a single line of bold text that reads: **Two Puppets, P. Fr.**

Copley takes a look around his office, at the cork board to the left that used to hold pictures of Nicky, Joe, Booker, and Andy. He burned them all after Merrick, watched the flames consume the photographs and the months of dedicated research. He's never seen anything burn as fast as photos printed from a CVS Pharmacy. Now, his cork board has pictures of his succulents, notes to himself, a calendar, and printed copies of emails from Randy. Next to the cork board, he keeps a whiteboard with a series of abbreviated names and numbers, each of them pertaining to a case. They're ordered by importance, with the most important cases squeezed into a five-inch by five-inch square at the bottom left. Most of the time that section remains clear, but now Randy's asking Copley to meet in person and something's telling Copley that he's going to have to phone Andy. Or he could call Joe. Or Nicky.

He sighs as he closes his laptop and opens his desk drawer to take out his passport. If anything, he can always call Nile.

-

_Saturday, 30 September 2021_

Les Deux Marionnettes is a busy Parisian café that sits at the intersection of Boulevard St. Germain and Rue Bonaparte. Its name hangs in gold metal lettering above its green and white overhang. Along the outside, there are rows of metal tables surrounded by white cushioned chairs. At midday, most of the tables along Boulevard St. Germain are filled with tourists in baseball caps and large sunglasses. There’s chatter, in a variety of different languages, mixing with the sounds coming from the Saint-Germain-de-Prés metro station behind Copley. 

He can see a few waiters huddling under the green awning of the café as they split tips. Behind them is the entrance to the café itself. But Copley heads further right, down Rue Bonaparte, all the way to the last table along the street. He takes a seat and keeps his eyes on the people filing past him. There's a waiter making his way toward Copley and when he reaches the table, Copley's already rattling off his order for two café au lait and croissants.

By the time the waiter comes back and pulls over another chair, Copley's settled in comfortably to wait. He wasn't given a time but he assumes it'll be the same as the last time he saw Randy. Midday for shop talk, two in the afternoon for meals, and five for getting plastered. It doesn't matter that Copley needed almost ten hours to get to France with flight delays and last minute packing. He doesn't intend to stay in Paris long. He can't stand cities, something about the buzzing of conversations and the incessant taping of shoes on concrete just doesn't do it for him. He prefers the countryside, away from prying eyes, quiet.

It doesn't take long for Randy to find him. He comes from the metro station, a baseball cap pulled over his tight curls. He's wearing an expensive-looking polo, tailored to his measurements, and ironed. Copley smiles despite himself as he takes in the lack of wrinkles on Randy's jeans, how neat and put-together he looks even when he's trying to be inconspicuous. It's why he got pulled from field work so fast. He's always had a better head for research and compiling necessary information. That and he just stands out like a sore thumb wherever they put him. He's too beautiful, with a strong jaw and smooth dark skin. When he smiles, people notice, and though he may be the best in his department, he's just too goddamn charming for his own good.

It's a shame, Copley thinks as Randy makes his way toward him. There were a couple of missions over the years where having Randy around would have made everything easier. He can carry a conversation and he knows enough to keep up with Copley, to know when he's being fed bullshit. But despite how little they'd been put together, they became close friends because Randy was a good person. The kind that went out of their way to be polite and understanding. He was raised in a world that treated him like dirt and he was still kind, so much like Nile that Copley's been tempted to introduce them.

"Good morning, Copley," Randy says, taking the empty seat.

He doesn't take off the baseball cap and there's tension running along his shoulders even as he leans toward Copley. He knows it's because Randy has his back to the traffic, his eyes on the white wall of the café at Copley's back.

"First one here gets to choose their seat," Copley says. "You know the rules."

Randy rolls his eyes and grins. "Good to see you haven't changed one bit since I last saw you," he says.

He's trying to keep his accent ambiguous, being careful with his pronunciation, hiding the Southern twang that Copley's grown fond of. He knows it's because they're in France when they could both be in the United States, or in Copley's house. They could be having this conversation via burner phones from their respective safe houses. Anything that didn't require international travel at the last minute. That they're here means that whatever Randy's found is important and Copley's liking it less by the minute.

"Tell me why we're here," he says.

Randy glances to his left then to his right and finally looks at Copley. "Clear?" he asks.

Copley lets his gaze follow the people behind Randy, eyes out for anyone who's lingering, or too concentrated on their phone, or who keeps glancing toward the café. Directly across from them, he sees an Asian woman with long dark hair, who's looking down the street, her phone clutched casually in her hand. He watches the movement of her hand and can't decide if she's recording them. A moment later, a black car pulls up in front of her and she glances at her phone one more time before getting in.

"Clear," he tells Randy.

"Okay," Randy says. "But you have to promise me that you're not going to think I'm crazy."

"I can promise to keep my opinions to myself."

"Fair enough," Randy says, reaching into his coat.

He pulls out a single manilla envelope and lays it on the table between the two of them. Copley reaches for it, his fingers barely catching on the sides when Randy's hand comes down on top of his.

"What would you say if I told you that there are people who can't die?" Randy whispers, leaning closer. "And what if I told you I could prove it?"

Copley leans back and raises an eyebrow. He very carefully takes a sip of his coffee as he watches Randy. At least, if there's one good thing about being dragged to Paris, it's that their conversation suddenly got much more interesting. The bad thing about it is that he's going to have so much work to do after he's done with Randy. But it's looking less likely that he's going to have to tell Nile to cut her vacation short. This is his jurisdiction, handling people who get too close to the truth. So he takes a deep breath and waves at Randy to continue.

"I have video," Randy says.

And, really, there's only so much a man can take at midday on a Tuesday.

-

Copley doesn't text Andy or Nile or Booker or Joe or Nicky. Instead, he takes the envelope Randy gave him, tucks it into his own jacket, and proceeds to question Randy so thoroughly that by the end of their conversation, it's time for them to get something to eat. They end up at Copley's hotel, where they both watch the video on the USB that came with the papers in Randy's manilla envelope. The video is a copy of security footage from Merrick Pharmaceuticals showing Nile being gunned down. From the angle of the camera, it's impossible to tell if the bullets actually hit Nile, just as it's impossible to tell if she's wearing a vest or not. And even then, Copley knows that unless she's wearing military-grade equipment, there's not much a bullet-proof vest can do against the machine guns the security guards in the video are carrying.

Randy's frowning, his eyes on Nile as she gets back up, the camera catching part of her face. They're in dangerous territory, but Copley knows how to distract, just the right things to say, how much to push. He's lived this life, perfected questioning techniques, and Randy, for all that he may be a beautiful genius at researching, isn't made to stop Copley when he puts his mind to getting what he wants. By the time they finish dinner, Copley's almost convinced him that at best, they're seeing things that aren't real, and at worst, someone's playing a prank on Randy. 

"Well, now you know why I brought this to you and not to a supervisor at the office," he says, when they're done rewatching the video for the fifth time. "I knew I was talking myself into something that wasn't real. But with the pills and the deaths, I thought there was something there."

"Pills?" Copley asks.

"Yeah," Randy shrugs, pulling out papers from the manilla envelope. "There's reports of a new party drug on the market. It's meant to make people happy, the usual load of bull. One of its nastier side effects is a sense of invincibility, so there's been an increase in hospitalizations among the rich kids in the US. Lots of California heirs and heiresses passing through with broken arms and legs. They're the ones who told the hospital about the pills, obsidian pills, they said. Used those words exactly, and all of them, every last one, referred to them as the God Killer."

"Right," Copley says. "Sounds like your average, run-of-the-mill party drug. Likely untested, that's why there are so many hospitalizations. You'll probably see more before the end of the year. But that's nothing new."

"Usually, I'd agree," Randy says, shifting closer to Copley so that he can get to the laptop in front of them. "But then we started getting dead bodies. We have three dead from this drug, which means that it's already widespread in the US. Or at least with the rich and beautiful."

"Rich, yes," Copley says, because it's a Tuesday afternoon and he's in France. "But I don't think the rich have a monopoly on beauty."

He makes sure that Randy's looking at him when he says it, so that there's no confusion as to what's going to happen once they're done talking. Randy takes it in stride, scoots closer so that Copley knows they're on the same page. That settled, he goes back to the files Randy's pulling up on his computer. These look more like what Copley was expecting from the email, PDF files with pages of pictures and coroners' reports. There's a summary of what he's looking at in the first page, and as Copley scans through it, he has to take a deep breath.

"Explain to me what I'm looking at," he tells Randy.

He's already pulling out his phone even as Randy goes down the list of the three dead. But before he can send off a text to Nile, Randy says something that catches Copley's attention.

"Go back to the first body," he says. "And say everything again slowly."

"Olive Wolf, her father's the editor at Vanity Fair. She's twenty-eight years old, big on healthy eating and saving the rainforest. She was found by her maid a month ago, dead in her bed. Police found a crystal bottle of obsidian pills on her bedside table."

Copley nods absentmindedly as he scrolls through the pictures of the pills. They're in a five-inch clear crystal bottle with a diamond-shaped stopper. Even in pictures, the only way to describe the pills is obsidian. They seem to shine inside their bottle, the black capsules so smooth, they look like they could be liquid. The capsules individually are about half an inch long and one sixteenth of an inch across. They look like they're meant for the rich, over the top and expensive-looking.

"So someone killed an heiress," Copley says as he goes through the pictures of Olive Wolf.

"Wait until you read the coroner's report and see the pictures," Randy says, and he sounds so smug that Copley looks at him.

Randy raises an eyebrow and smirks. Copley watches him, the way his skin shines under the room's orange light. Then, because it's past five in the afternoon, he stands up and goes over to the mini-fridge by the TV. The whiskey is the obvious choice but he has a beautiful man in his room and Copley's going to enjoy it, especially since he's starting to suspect that he's going to be taking a lot of flights in the next couple of days. Besides, a distracted Randy is preferred in this particular situation.

Copley chooses the little bottles of merlot and tosses one to Randy before leaning against the wall next to the desk. He can see Randy from here, watches the way he uncaps the merlot and takes a drink. The view is nicer this way, and Copley trusts that Randy will fill him in on the important details. He'll go over the rest of it on his flight to California. He has an heiress's home to visit, after all.

"Tell me what's so interesting about the coroner's report?"

Randy sighs. "This is the part where things get weird," he says. "There's a lot of chatter online about witnesses who swear they saw a woman matching the description of the woman in the Merrick Pharmaceutical's video come out of the same car where Merrick was found. You know the case. We talked about it last year. Ruled as a suicide. Except that there's more than one eyewitness making noise about this woman. Someone even has a blurry picture. I made myself think they were the same woman. But only because I read the reports on these deaths and there were rumors going around that Merrick was working on a new miracle drug to prevent aging. Some people think he was offed because he actually found a pill that worked. Then the doctor that was working with him died in police custody, which meant that there was no one left to clear up that whole mess."

"And the case was ruled a murder-suicide," Copley says.

"Exactly, and there's no one left to ask except—"

"—Except for the woman in the video."

Except for Nile.

Randy nods. "Not only that but Olive Wolf's official cause of death was old age, and that just seems like too much of a coincidence to me."

Copley freezes with the bottle of merlot halfway to his lips. "What?" he asks.

"The official cause of death was old age," Randy says. "Or it would have been if Olive Wolf's father hadn't gotten involved. See, the maid who reported the death never said it was Olive Wolf who'd died. She called in to report a break-in, and because no one believed that the old woman in Olive Wolf's bed was actually her, the case was changed to a missing persons. But when they asked for any distinctive features that could help people identify Olive, her father mentioned a tattoo. Now guess who had the exact same tattoo."

"The dead body?" Copley asks, raising an eyebrow at Randy.

"Exactly."

"Was your department involved?"

Randy shakes his head," No, but I have a friend in California who's obsessed with conspiracy theories."

"Uh huh," Copley says.

"Hear me out," Randy says, sliding his chair back so that he can look at Copley leaning against the wall. "Let's just say that my friend was fucking around and decided to fingerprint the body and run a DNA test. Say he got a match for Olive Wolf. What then?"

"I'd say your friend should spend more time focusing on solving his missing persons cases, and less time squandering government funds."

Randy shrugs as Copley opens another mini bottle of merlot and takes careful stock of what he knows. Randy's not illogical. He's not the type to bring something like this to Copley's attention, which means that he has more evidence to back up his Olive Wolf claim. Either that or he has more pictures of Nile and a stronger connection between these deaths and Merrick Pharmaceuticals. In any case, there's enough in front of Copley to help him connect the rest of the dots. The best thing to do now is to get Randy away from this particular scent and off to the US. 

Gently, of course. With as much discretion as humanly possible. Copley will have to keep an eye on him for the foreseeable future too, just to make sure he's not looking at things he isn't supposed to. 

For now, Copley turns back to him and says, "Show me your friend's report."

Randy moves aside to give him room at the laptop and Copley takes a seat to scan through the files himself. He sees "overdose" as the official cause of death on the original death certificate and the modified one that lists heart failure for a Jane Doe. It's a few more pages of doctor's notes and police reports before he gets to the first photo. He's looking at a woman well in her eighties, with all evidence of old age on her face, from wrinkles to sagging skin to white hair. Next to that picture is one of Olive Wolf at her birthday party three months prior. She's a beautiful young woman with unblemished skin, dark auburn hair, and the edges of a colorful tattoo peeking out from under her collar. There's nothing similar between the two women except for the tattoo, the same design obvious on the Jane Doe. Then, there are the unofficial DNA reports and the fingerprints, and if Copley didn't know a thing about immortals, he would swear someone made a mistake.

As it is, he turns to Randy and says, "Your friend fucked up his testing."

"Normally, I would agree," Randy says. "But when he showed me the results, I couldn't get it out of my head. I ran the tests three times through three different specialists. I didn't tell them anything. I just asked them to compare two different DNA samples and tell me if they found a match, and unless they all made the same mistake, that old woman is Olive Wolf, twenty-eight years old. And she's not the only one. There are two more. Now, you look at them and at the goddamn God Killer in every case and tell me it isn't weird."

Copley goes through the other coroners' reports, each of them listing the cause of death as natural causes, heart failure due to old age. Each of them accompanied by missing persons reports and more DNA results from Randy. There's even an unofficial report regarding a potential secondary use of the God Killer, a hypothesis regarding aging and the God Killer's telomere-targeting protein composition. Copley's looking at a very thoroughly researched mess, if he can't get the situation under control. But it's human nature to accept the easiest explanations, so he doesn't doubt that with time, he can convince Randy that they're looking at nothing. Especially if Copley accepts the case and texts Nile. 

He takes a swig of his merlot and turns to Randy. "What's the connection to Merrick Pharmaceuticals?" he asks. "I know you, Randy, and so I know you aren't sitting here trying to tell me that you're basing your theory on impossible findings and grainy video of a woman you haven't been able to find."

Randy grins. "Well, no," he says. "I'm basing it on the fact that all three people who are dead right now were all part of at least one study being conducted at Merrick Pharmaceuticals. They were all dismissed from the studies for non-malignant heart murmurs on the same day Merrick died. And as for the woman, I did find her."

"Oh?" Copley asks, careful to keep his tone politely interested.

"Her name is Nile Freeman, died in combat in Afghanistan."

Randy says nothing else and when Copley turns to look at him, he's almost vibrating in his seat with excitement. Copley takes another sip of merlot and rolls his eyes.

"All right," he says. "Tell me what you know."

Randy grins, his entire face lighting up, and it really is a shame that they don't work together more often.

"You know me, Copley, I like to know I did a good job."

"Oh," Copley says, catching Randy's gaze and holding it. "I know."

Randy laughs. "Okay," he says. "Fair. But you like me like that, so are there really any losers here?"

Copley considers Randy a moment, the obvious intent behind his words and the heated way he's looking at him. They could pause for the moment, have some fun, and come back to the files later. Copley's been looking forward to the evening since he saw the time and date in the email. He can't even bring himself to feel bad about it. He gets so few moments of stress relief these days and he doubts anyone would begrudge him some fun. But his phone sits on the nightstand behind him as a reminder of what he gets paid to do, and there's a case important enough to interrupt a vacation waiting for him.

"Randy," Copley says. "We're two grown men who know why they're here, so I'm going to have to ask you to get the fuck on with it so that we can move onto better things."

"Very romantic," Randy says. "So sexy of you to want me to just get the fuck on with it."

Copley raises an eyebrow and says nothing.

"Nile Freeman was in a unit with a marine who swears she saw her die. There's unofficial paperwork from that day, detailing the transfer of Freeman from the American base in Afghanistan to a research lab in California. She never made it. Reports from the two guards meant to escort her to her plane say that someone knocked them out from behind. So not only did Freeman escape, she had help, but all marines on base were accounted for that day and for weeks after Freeman went AWOL. Next thing anyone heard of her, she'd died in combat. Then this same marine shows up in England, is caught on camera getting shot, and then caught again falling out of a skyscraper, and you want me to believe that I'm going crazy? Nah, Copley. We both know each other better than that. So now you tell me, what exactly are you hiding?"

-

_Sunday, 1st October, 2021_

In retrospect, Copley thinks he could have handled the situation better. But he's coming to find that a lot of things can be handled better with a little distance and a lot of time. His excuse for why he's on a plane headed for Malta with Randy is that getting caught on camera with Randy at his home would have made things more complicated. He should have stayed in Paris, but he has few connections there, which Randy knows well. They meet where neither of them can catch the other unawares, so Copley had no place to lock Randy up until he could figure out what to do. He didn't even think of Booker or Andy until he had tickets under two different names.

If he were the immortals, he knows what he'd do with Randy, despite how well they know each other. But even though he's unsure of the welcome, his best bet now is for Andy and the others to take pity on Randy the way they took pity on Copley. In the meantime, he can't risk letting Randy go spreading semi-plausible rumors. There are too many people like Merrick out there who might hear something they shouldn't and start looking for Nile and the rest. And Copley promised he would do his best to keep them safe.

"What's in Malta?" Randy asks for the fifth time since they got to the airport.

"Nothing," Copley says.

Randy narrows his eyes as he looks at Copley but he nods and lets the subject drop. It's the morning after they went over the documents in Paris and Copley's had maybe half an hour of rest in the cab. He plans to sleep for the entire upcoming plane ride and ignore Randy until he can figure out what he's going to do. He's not entirely sure that Andy won't just kill Randy and be done with it, but he has to risk it. If only to keep Randy from getting in trouble with the wrong people.

The plane ride proves to be uneventful. Copley doesn't sleep but Randy keeps to himself, flipping through the free airline movies. It gives Copley time to go over what he learned, to kick himself for not asking more questions when Andy told him he was responsible for keeping them out of the media. He should have known that there would be cameras and photos. Everyone carries a phone these days, and two people falling onto the car of a big pharma CEO is bound to attract attention. That it's only Nile seems like some kind of miracle given the noise the rest of them make wherever they go. They've all been incredibly lucky so far, and Copley thinks it's time they reassess their plans for keeping things under wraps.

When they land, it turns out that Malta is warmer than Paris, and Copley ends up sticking his and Randy's jackets in his luggage. The house in Malta officially belongs to Copley and is the group's safe house, but it's Andy's home. She's the one who sought out his help in buying it because she had no recent credit history and no legal means of obtaining the necessary paperwork. He knows where he's going is the thing, and as their cab nears the house, he dials Nile's number.

"I have two things to tell you," he says when she picks up, ignoring the way Randy's very clearly trying to eavesdrop next to him. "One, I'm pulling up to the house in Malta and I'm going to need someone to open the door. And two, I've brought a friend with me."

Then he hangs up the phone and turns to Randy. Their cab pulls up to the front of the house and Copley can tell the moment Randy notices that they've made it. His eyes go wide and Copley can imagine him seeing the two-floor home for the first time, the white stone seeming to sparkle in the streetlights, all of it so neat and ordered, with glass windows in a modern design. It's a beautiful house, expensive and unafraid to show it in its decor.

"We're going in there?" Randy asks.

Copley takes a deep breath, counts to ten, and exhales. "Listen to me, Randy," he says. "You only need to know two things. One, you shut up and let me do the talking. And two, stay the fuck away from the Italian."

-

Copley is sure that he's going to walk into a trap, and when Joe opens the door, he's more sure than ever that he's brought Randy to die. But he's made it this far and he's slept less than six hours in the past two days and Copley never said he was rational when he didn't sleep. In fact, he remembers telling Randy more than once not to wake him before nine on the weekends. And though Copley's sleep-deprived, he's still alert enough to make it through the threshold, turn around, hit Randy right by the temples, and knock him out.

They all stand there a moment looking at Randy slumped by the entrance. Then Andy nods at Booker, and Copley watches as he pats Randy down. Once he's done, he turns to Copley and does the same.

"Before you say anything," Copley says, as soon as Booker's given Andy the all-clear. "I want to say that this time, I had absolutely nothing to do with it."

Nile's trying not to smile. Copley can see it from where he's standing by the door, and it takes him a moment to realize that he's stepped in between Randy and the rest of the group. But he refuses to back down, which means that they're all left standing just inside the front door watching each other. Until Andy finally gives one long, drawn-out exhale and says, rather annoyed, "I need a drink."

"I thought you were quitting," Joe says, as Andy turns to head deeper into the house. 

"I take it back," Andy calls back to them. "I can't do this sober. I don't know who the fuck I was kidding."

For a moment, the rest of them just stand together, waiting to see if Andy's going to come back. When she doesn't, Nile shrugs at Copley and says, "We have tea?"

And because no one's been murdered yet, Copley says, "Tea would be lovely."


	4. Safe Travels

_Monday, 2 October, 2021  
0100_

There's nothing to do after they handcuff Randy to the bathroom sink upstairs, except pack. Copley's upstairs with him, with no real plan aside from finding out everything he knows or suspects. Nile's sure there's something he isn't saying. After all, no one jumps to immortals as their first theory when investigating strange cases. Though Nile's sure that Andy has backup plans for these kinds of situations. She doesn't doubt for a second that should any word of who they are get out, Andy will handle it. Probably with Nicky. Probably not as kindly or as forgiving as Nile might be. But they have other things to worry about.

As Nile heads to her room, she can't help the way she keeps seeing pictures of the obsidian capsules, small insignificant things that she'd think were candy if she hadn't heard what they were from Copley. She tries not to dwell as she pulls shirts and pants from her dresser, tossing them on her bed before she realizes that her go bag is Andy's room. It's her own fault she has to go downstairs instead of being able to hide in her own room. She's the one who keeps leaving her things where they don't belong, and even though she would like to wallow over how easily she's become a security liability, she has things to do. Still, she's the one whose face is all over Randy's case files, and of all of them, her trail is easiest to find, so she allows herself one more morose thought and nothing more. 

Her new determination lasts only until she starts thinking of her father. When he died, her mother took her aside and told her, "Nile, I can't do this without you. You have to take care of your brother."

So Nile took care of Aaron while her mother worked. She's never known anything aside from taking care of him and she built who she was into the fabric of her family. It's what she needed to do to survive, to keep them all together. But afterward, when Aaron was old enough to take care of himself, when Nile graduated high school, the world asked her what she wanted to do with the rest of her life and she didn't know how to answer. All her life, she was who her family needed, obedient, determined, loyal. Whatever was needed, Nile did. Until it was second nature to tell her friends she was too busy to go out. Until she looked up and didn't know who she was.

She joined the marines because she was running, because to not know who she was scared her more than leaving her family did. Because she saw no life that didn't include her mother and brother. Because, good Catholic girl though she may be, she was no one. The marines didn't necessarily make everything better, but in the comforting repetition of bootcamp, she found time to really look at what she wanted to do with her life. She had no Aaron who needed watching. No errands to run for her mother. Nothing but the dry heat of the desert and too much time to think.

She met Dizzy and Jay, and it was like she woke up from a dream. They were her friends before they were anything else, and all Nile had to say was that she was the eldest girl, and they understood. She didn't ever have to explain herself with them. Never had to work and rework her interests to make them fit with what was expected of her. They had no expectations, so Nile just was. Until Afghanistan and the man with the knife. Until Andy had to come get her because she was a goddamn liability. 

Nile shakes her head now and stops herself from touching her neck. She looks around her room instead, taking in the white walls and the single black dresser. There's no TV, just her laptop tossed onto her bed. They get good wifi, she rationalizes. There's no need for anything but what she already has. But as she picks up her clothes from her bed, she remembers her home in Chicago. 

She didn't have anything on her walls there either, because her mother didn't like the marks scotch tape left on the paint. Basic meant space was limited, and it wasn't like Nile had many things she could take with her. Before she knew it, the need to keep her space as clutter-free as possible stuck with her. 

She likes color, vibrant blues, yellows, and bright pinks that would clash beautifully with the white walls. If she had the chance, she'd go out and buy interesting paintings, hang them everywhere until there was no more room on her walls. Anything to cover the emptiness in what's supposed to be her home. But there's work that needs to be done and there are people dying, and for now that's more important than redecorating. 

Nile sighs as she picks up her clothes and heads back down the black spiral staircase that links her side of the house to the den. She heads for Andy's room and finds Booker already there. He's lying down on the bed, his head hanging over the edge, his shoes bunching up the comforter. 

"Andy?" she asks.

"Bathroom," Booker says. "I think she's trying to drown herself in the sink."

Nile rolls her eyes and lets out a snort of laughter as she drops her clothes next to Booker. Her go bag is where she left it, tucked underneath the weapons table, next to Booker's neatly packed suitcase. Nile picks it up and turns to Booker. 

He grins at her. "What?" he asks. "Surprised I got my shit together?"

"No," Nile says. "Just surprised there's nothing ticking inside."

Booker sits up and shrugs. "Andy said she's carrying the toys this time."

"Because she got it in her head that we're all going to blow the plane up if she gives them to us?"

"It was one time," Booker says. "And she knows it was intentional."

They're talking about Brazil and the plane ride back, when Nicky forgot that he wasn't supposed to understand Portuguese, and they had to fight off a group of very paranoid and heavily armed drug traffickers. No one's forgiven Copley for sending them on the shitty plane ride. But Nile appreciates that he seems to be focused on getting them out from wherever they may be quickly, even if there's less finesse these days. It's better when Andy doesn't stick around after missions. She gets too antsy, forgets that when she bleeds, she won't necessarily heal right away. 

It's better to get out fast even if it means catching less than favorable rides out of the countries they go to. Brazil wasn't even the worst they've been on, and if it hadn't been for how Booker's bag fell on the floor when the gunmen grabbed Andy and shoved her at him, then the ride would have been uneventful. But shoving Andy was the wrong thing to do. Nile doesn't remember who moved first, but she knows that it ended with one of Booker's grenades going off and the plane nose diving over the Das Almas River. Nicky had to jump out of the open plane door with Andy and the only parachute, and when Joe woke up from the plane crash, he was pissed. 

Nile wasn't too happy about the outcome of that particular mission, or the fact that they had to hike for miles to get to a new meet-up point in São Paulo. Andy was bruised and she dislocated her right shoulder, but she was in one piece. Booker died when the plane landed and Joe healed two broken arms. Suffice to say, Nile made sure she went with Andy to the meeting with Copley after that mission. It was just as nasty as she imagined it was going to be. There was a lot of cursing, lots of angry pacing, but Andy kept it together for the most part. 

It's a learning curve, Nile thinks. All of the things they do and the mission they go on involve some kind of adapting. Just as the past year has required that Nile learn as she goes. The others do their best to teach her the immediately important things, but they haven't figured out how to help her deal with the heavy toll of each mission. Nile's woken up from nightmares more times than she'd like in the last month alone. She hears gunfire and can't help the way her body tenses, how her heart starts beating twice as fast. She lives with the kills because she has to, but she can't help the way everything else sticks to her, the scared eyes, the hatred, the knowledge that humanity can sink so low. 

Talking to someone might help, but there's been no time. Even if she could come up with a good cover story for her traumas, she'd have to get an insurance card, an ID, solid concrete evidence that she's alive and participating in the world. She'd have to change her name and she's not ready to do that yet. She doesn't know when she'll be ready. 

"Nile?" Booker asks, and it takes Nile a moment to realize that he's been speaking to her for a while.

"Sorry," she says. "I'm distracted. Can't help thinking that this is going to get messy. It's too connected to Merrick."

Booker looks away and Nile knows she's hit a nerve. They talk about Merrick and what went down with Booker the way they talk about the weather, fleeting and unimportant mentions that never make it past a quick nod to Booker or an eyeroll. There's a consensus in the group that since they've moved past the issue, there's no need to rehash it. But things haven't worked that way for Booker. She's seen him some nights, when he thinks he's alone, staring at the wall, a cheap bottle of alcohol in his hand. She's heard him cry himself to sleep, seen him wandering in the mornings when he should be sleeping. Scars don't fade and Nile knows that Booker's got work to do. Same as Andy. Same as Nile. 

The best anyone can do is offer help when it's needed. Like now, as Nile walks over to Booker and sits next to him, knocks their shoulders together. They're quiet, staring out Andy's window at the streetlights, the way the light is swallowed by darkness closer to the beach. The other houses on the street are silent, their inhabitants long since asleep. It's this kind of quiet that allows room for intrusive thoughts, a calm that she, Andy, and Booker can't feel. 

The three of them haven't had a good night's sleep in a long time. She can feel it as she sits with Booker, the way her thoughts can get away from her, the way it's so easy to think that Joe and Nicky have no problems, that it isn't fair that they sleep so peacefully. A person could lose themselves in silence, Nile thinks. 

Maybe Andy, who was alone for so long, just embraced the silence that came with her lonely existence, so that by the time she found someone else, it was already second nature to keep things to herself. Maybe Booker lost too much too quickly and couldn't talk about it. Maybe Nile learned too young to keep her mouth shut, to be careful with her inflections, to tuck herself away so that there was room for everyone else. Maybe they're all just exactly the same down where it matters. Maybe Joe and Nicky are too. There has to be a reason why they all fit together so well, after all.

"You're thinking about the pills, aren't you?" Booker asks, quietly. 

She isn't. Not directly. But all of the things running through her head have to do with the pills in a way. Copley said that they were making people age, that it was something Merrick's scientists were testing. It seems as though, aside from getting people high, the pills are meant to target telomeres, something to do with aging. And since it's tied to Merrick, it feels like a direct attack, a blatant move from someone else who knows about them and wants to control them, to hurt them. 

But it's the aging that's grabbed Nile's attention. She doesn't want to die, though she knows that's what Booker's thinking, what he's always thinking despite how hard he pretends he isn't. She's not like him in that respect though. She wants to live, to be able to go back home to her family. If there was a way for Nile to grow old with her mother and brother, she'd take it. Immediately. No questions asked. 

Or so she thinks. 

Because here she is, sitting in Andy's room next to Booker, staring at the shadows along the silent streets, and thinking about that time in Brazil. They helped take down a child trafficking ring, one that was too small to be important to the Brazilian government. It was a dirty job, messy from the beginning, but they did it because the work they do matters. Even when it goes to shit, what they do is important, and part of Nile knows that she wouldn't just be able to walk away from it. 

"There's nothing to think about," she tells Booker, remembering Sunday mornings with her mother and brother. "We don't even know if the pills would work on us."

Booker snorts and shakes his head. "So you are thinking about the pills."

The bathroom door opens behind Nile and she sighs. "Who isn't thinking about the pills?" she asks. 

"Stop," Andy says.

Nile can hear her moving around her room, opening drawers, and tossing things onto the floor. Nile and Booker don't look at each other, pretend they don't notice that Andy's been acting different these days. She should be on top of them, making sure everyone's doing their part. That she's been slowly easing out of the way and letting Nile take the lead makes sense in that efficient, detached way Andy has of viewing things. But the silences don't sit right, the way Andy's started avoiding them when they're all together, how she agrees to go on runs only if Nile goes. She's shutting them out little by little while training Nile to replace her, and they'd all be idiots not to notice. 

"What time are we leaving?" Andy asks, breaking the silence of the room. 

Nile looks down at her phone, Copley's last message still blinking at her from her notifications. Their flight to Switzerland leaves in the morning and has a layover in Germany. 

"For fun," Copley had said. "And to shake anyone who might be on your tail."

He means that if Randy found Nile, and if someone is making drugs meant to age people, then the possibility that someone is looking for them is high. It means that they're going to have to rely on seedy helicopter rides, rented cars under assumed names, and forger friends of Andy's for identification cards and passports. It also means they're doing their own recon. No one knows who's manufacturing the drug, only that it seems to be coming out of Switzerland. Only that it hit America's rich and famous first. They only have a country and a drug name, and backlogs of information that link all this mess to Merrick, or someone intimately familiar with Merrick. 

Or with them. 

Because their assignment this time involves more moving pieces than Randy was able to put together, and with the God Killer being a new drug, they're flying on less information than they're used to. But they adapt, as they always must. 

What they need to find out is how many labs there are, how many employees, and just how much the person orchestrating the whole thing knows about the rest of them. The obvious danger in going in mostly blind is a risk they all agreed to take, because they can't let what happened at Merrick Pharmaceuticals happen again. Not if they intend to keep each other safe. Not if Nile wants to keep her family safe. But Copley's handling that aspect of it, handling Randy, and Nile has to trust that he'll do the right thing. She has no other choice and right now what she has to concentrate on is getting on the plane to Germany in the morning. 

"We take off at zero six," she says, the habit still ingrained even after a year. 

It doesn't help that the others have molded to her methods. They're working around her, taking her into consideration the way they do for Andy. It would be nice if Nile didn't feel an overwhelming urge to run. Not because she doesn't want to be here, but because she can feel herself wanting to adjust to them, to their wants and needs, their way of doing things. It's like being eighteen again and not knowing who she was outside of the context of her family. She can't let herself do that again, can't be an extension of the rest of them. 

"You know," Andy says, coming around the bed to sit on Nile's other side. "If we keep staring at walls all the time, we're going to miss the things happening outside this place."

"Plato and the Allegory of the Cave," Nile says without missing a beat. "You miss the deeper meaning if you're just looking at the superficial aspect of things."

"You know what," Booker says, pulling out his wallet and handing Andy twenty Euro. "I think it should count in my favor that I was drunk off my ass when we made this bet."

Nile shakes her head, smiling in spite of herself. "You should have also remembered that I have technology on my side."

"So do I," Booker says. 

"Yeah," Nile tells him. "But I know how to Google. There's not a single thing that I can't find the meaning of on the internet."

Booker makes a face at her and just like that, the tension in the room is gone. Not for the first time, Nile thinks about how easy it is for her to understand Andy and Booker. It's not that she doesn't get Nicky or Joe. It's the exact opposite because she and Joe live in a different world than Booker, Andy, and Nicky. They get each other on the important things, know when the outside world is getting to be too much, know to remind each other to give themselves time and space. Nicky's compassionate and kind and tries to understand her as best he can. They're also Catholic and with that comes very specific dynamics and views of the world. 

But Andy and Booker feel different. They're who Nile imagines she might be if she let herself go down that path. She recognizes their brand of despair, that sort of mad grab for sense in a world that's endlessly disappointing. She can understand the unimaginable pain of losing a loved one because of something that's out of her control. Her family was everything to her for so long that losing them hit harder than anything else has in her life. Even then, they're alive and they love her. She hasn't lost them the way Booker lost his children, the way Andy lost Quynh. But she gets it, gets them, knows where the self-destructive tendencies come from. 

"Stop that," Andy says, turning on her side to look at Nile. 

That's new too, Andy focusing so much of her attention on Nile, how easily she notices when Nile's tired or sad or needs a break. 

"I'm not doing anything," Nile says. 

"You're thinking about the pills. We're all thinking about the pills," Booker tells her. "And Randy. I didn't see that one coming."

"You mad that Copley has more game than you?" Nile asks.

Booker laughs. "Yes," he says, grining. "That's it."

They fall quiet, the three of them staring out the window, waiting. Nile's still a little surprised at how much waiting they actually do. Missions involve hanging out at a hotel room for hours on end, until it's time to meet with a contact. Breaking in is mostly Nicky on a roof taking people out while the rest of them wait. Afterward, there's more wasting time until they can get out of the country, waiting until Copley calls them again, until they have to do it all over again. They wait for plane rides, for helicopters, cars, passports, mission briefs. 

They're waiting for it to be two in the morning so that Nile can pick up her bag from the floor and follow Andy to the car. Booker's lying on the bed again, his left arm hanging off the side, his eyes closed as he pretends to sleep. Andy's given up doing anything that isn't watching Nile. Nile lets her, turning so that they're looking at each other. 

She doesn't know what Andy's looking for, but she imagines it's what she's always searching for on Andy's face, any sign of a crack in the calm facade Andy carries, something to let Nile know that it's getting to be too much. She knows being mortal is everything Andy's ever wanted, but Andy still feels responsible for Nile, does her best to teach her everything she knows. Nile knows Andy's trying to prepare her for everything that can go wrong, but the years Andy's lived spread out between them, impossibly vast. There's no way Andy will have enough time to teach Nile everything she knows. Which means that Nile might not be prepared for everything. 

But that's just the way these things go sometimes. Nile didn't learn everything she wanted from her father before he was gone. It happens and they live with it. Just like one day Andy will be gone and they'll have to keep going. 

"Stop that," Andy says, again, frowning at Nile.

"Stop what?" Nile asks. 

"Whatever you're thinking is upsetting you," she says. "So don't think about it. It's not worth it."

Nile raises an eyebrow. "How do you know it isn't worth it?"

Andy waves a hand dismissively. "I meant that unless you can do something about it, it's not worth it. You can be doing so many other things."

"Like drinking?" Nile asks, dryly, glancing at the empty vodka bottle on Andy's floor. 

"That might be mine," Booker calls from his side of the bed.

"Like getting ready to go to the airport," Andy says, but Nile can tell that she's not done with the conversation. "We're leaving in ten. Someone get Nicky and Joe."

"Not it," Booker says. 

Nile moves to stand, but Andy beats her to it. She's agitated, something like anger on her face as she looks down at Nile and Booker. They watch her, both of them waiting for what she's going to say. But Andy just rolls her eyes and leaves the room. Nile turns to watch her head down the hallway, keeps her eyes on Andy's back until she turns into the den and is gone. She meets Booker's eyes, waits for him to say something, and when he doesn't, she sighs.

"So maybe I was thinking about the pills," she says. "And maybe that made me think of my mom and my brother. And maybe I started thinking about Andy and how she keeps trying to teach me things when we all know there isn't enough time. Besides, that isn't what she should be doing with the last few years of her life anyway."

"Oh?" Booker says, sitting up. "And what should she be doing? Going on vacation? Should she join a gym? You want Andromache in a yoga class? Her?"

"No," Nile says, shaking her head. "But she should be doing more than following us on missions and...and looking for her replacement. Training her replacement? Whatever the hell she's doing with me. She's got maybe forty years, Book. What the hell is she going to do when she's sixty and can't jump out of planes anymore?"

"I think that's what this house is for," Booker tells her, his eyes roaming around Andy's room.

Nile looks too, at the empty walls, how eerily familiar this place feels. Even though there's a mess of things everywhere, very few of them are actually Andy's. It feels as though the rest of them have encroached in a space that doesn't belong to them and Andy let them. She allowed them to become embedded in each other's lives, the same way Nile's family was embedded in hers. Not necessarily a bad thing, but an issue to address nonetheless. Because who is Andy without them, and who is Nile if she allows the same thing to happen to her when Andy's gone?

-

Getting out of the house, with all of their things, and into the car on time proves to be harder than usual. Nile assumes it's because everyone is worried about the God Killer, about the fact that something got out from Merrick Pharmaceuticals. Because that's what they should all be focusing on, the mission at hand, the dead bodies, and the fact that Nile's face was out there for a whole year. So she expects the car ride to be mostly discussions about what they're going to do. Except, once she climbs into the front with Andy, and Nicky, Booker, and Joe settle in the back, they end up talking about something else entirely.

"So," Nicky begins, as soon as he closes the car door. "Randy?"

"Beautiful," Andy says, starting the car and pulling out of their garage. 

"Do we have to talk about Randy?" Booker asks from between Joe and Nicky.

And really, Nile's done so much overthinking in the past twelve hours that it would be a relief to join a conversation that's not about drugs or Merrick or her face on the internet. So she settles more comfortably into her seat and gives in. 

"Copley kept him real quiet, didn't he?" she asks, and just because they might as well do this conversation right, she says, "Nicky doesn't trust that."

"Forget that," Joe says, leaning forward in his seat to talk to Nile. "I'm mad that he didn't tell us. I thought we were friends."

"As friendly as you can be when all you do is glare at him whenever we see him," Andy says, turning onto the main road.

"You like that I glare," Joe says, turning to Nicky. "She likes that I glare."

"She does," Nicky agrees.

They spend the rest of the car ride arguing over whether Andy's tactics for intimidating Copley actually work, or if she's just doing it for fun. There's more talk about Randy and Copley that devolves into a more serious conversation about keeping things quiet. They've all decided for now that they trust Copley enough to keep Randy under control, trust that he'll know what to do to keep them from danger.

The mission itself is a different matter, but Copley told them that there was no time to do further research into the person or company producing the pills. He has a country but not a name, and since whatever is happening is illegal, it won't be easy to look up the name of a CEO. All they know for sure is that whoever is making the pills got a hold of documents from Merrick's ordered experiments on Joe and Nicky. They also know that Nile was involved in some way and they have her face on multiple video sources, even if they don't have the rest of them. So their plan, and the other reason for their layover in Germany, is to have Nile, Joe, and Nicky make as much noise as possible before they get to Switzerland. Or as much noise as they can make without it being suspicious.

The assumption is that people who illegally manufacture drugs that are killing rich, beautiful people must, by the very nature of their business, be paranoid. If they know about Nile, Joe, and Nicky, then they'll be waiting for the three of them to arrive in Switzerland. Flying in from Germany avoids linking the house in Malta to them, and being obvious upon arrival will make it easier to spot a tail. And if they're not being watched, then there'll be a few interesting days where they'll finally be able to test whether Copley being ex-CIA makes him as good as Booker at reconnaissance. But even with Randy's case files, Nile doubts Copley can beat Booker, unless he has information he isn't sharing with the team.

She's not thinking too hard about it as they split up at the airport parking lot, Booker and Andy going around the low wall and heading toward the beige stone building across from them. Once they cross the street, Booker gives Andy a head start before he follows her inside. Nile, Joe, and Nicky give them five minutes and then head the same way. They're supposed to be traveling separately, but they go in through the glass doors together. Joe even waves Nile in and says, "After you."

"Thank you," she says, stepping in front of him and Nicky.

They go their separate ways from there because anything else would be too obvious. None of them are really expecting any issues until they leave Germany and head to Switzerland. She doubts anyone would come looking for them in Malta. They're supposed to be on the down-low there.

But she's just checked in her bag and taken her boarding pass from the smiling airline representative, when she hears Andy's very distinct, "Fuck." 

Nile turns halfway, looking for Joe and Nicky in the crowd and spots Booker headed her way, his expression angry, eyes focused on something behind her. She turns to look and sees two airport security officials coming for her. They're two white men, dressed in black from head to toe, a beret on their heads, the word "pulizija" printed in white on their chests. One of them is holding a Colt AR-15 semi-automatic in their hands, and the other one already has his hand on the Glock at his side. Nile glances at Booker, then at the people around her.

There's a woman, just behind Nile, who's bouncing her baby on her hip and looking harassed. Next to her is an elderly couple, both of them squinting at their boarding passes. To Nile's right is the row of airline representatives, all of them looking concerned as they realize that the two policemen are heading for Nile. She could make a run for it, head straight ahead toward Booker so that he can cover her while she goes for the doors. Then she'd just have to get to the car and go, leaving everyone else behind. But even as she works out her options, she knows there's no way she can go. It's not that she's worried the others won't be able to take care of themselves, it's about how they need to be in Germany in a few hours to catch their flight to Switzerland. And also, no one is supposed to know about the house in Malta. She can't risk it.

Nile spares one more glance around her immediate area. She spots Joe and Nicky by the self-check-in kiosks, Joe seemingly absorbed in printing their boarding passes. Nicky's looking right at her though, his brow furrowed in concentration as he glances at the men behind her. He nods to the right a little and Nile sees the sign pointing to the boarding gates. She inhales, pulls her shoulders back, and heads further into the airport. As she goes, she passes Andy who moves away from the wall and falls into step behind her.

There's a small scuffle behind Nile, a soft curse, and then Booker's voice saying, "Jiddispjaċini. I am very clumsy."

He's laying the French accent on thick but Nile doesn't stop as she steps into general airport security. She doubts there's a warrant out for her arrest, but she's still nervous as she scans her passport. There's no alarm, and in another moment, she's made it to the cafés and shops of the airport. As she heads further inside, she catches sight of Andy waving a passport in the air. She hands it to one of the policemen and then Nile's too far in to see what happens next. She keeps her head down as she goes, counting down the gate numbers until she finds hers. The monitors above say that they'll be boarding in thirty minutes as Nile gets in line for her passport check.

She's carrying a European passport so the check goes by quickly, and before she knows it, she's sitting in the gate's waiting room, trying not to check the time obsessively. She made it past airport security, so she knows the two men who tried to follow her aren't actually policemen. She knows it's unlikely that they're going to run into more trouble in Malta, but it's still worrying that someone found them here. It means that someone knows they spend time in Malta, and because their only property is under Copley's name, it means they know who Copley is and that he's helping them, which means he might be in trouble. 

Nile pulls out her phone automatically, her fingers already starting a message when she spots Joe and Nicky passing through the passport check. They head for the chairs behind her, the back of Joe's head touching hers for a moment.

"Are you all right?" she asks quietly, glancing at the people around her.

There's no one nearby but Nile still keeps her eyes on her cellphone, typing out a message to Copley as she listens to Joe talking.

"We should be fine," he says. "We took a couple of passports and dropped them in one of the planters by the sides. Andy started waving one of the ones she took and asking really loudly if anyone had lost their passport. Then Andy and Nicky knocked out the two policemen."

Nile imagines the commotion, how many people would have checked and double checked to make sure they still had their papers on them. She can almost hear the cries of dismay as they realized they lost their documents, the way they'd crowd the two policemen. She can imagine how easy it must have been for Andy and Nicky, just two more innocent travelers looking for their missing passports. Nile's sure the two men didn't even see it coming.

"Where's Andy now?" Nile asks. "Booker?"

"They should be here soon," Nicky says. "They wanted to see if they could grab anything off the two policemen." 

"Although, we're very sure they're not policemen," Joe says.

"No," Nile agrees, fidgeting with her phone.

The three of them look up and around the waiting area at the same time and Nile almost laughs. "Smooth," she says. "We have this stealth thing down."

Joe laughs and turns around in his seat to look at Nile. "I could dance, if you think it would help," he says.

"I don't think that'll be necessary, Joe," Nicky tells them, his face set and serious, contemplative like he always is. "I think we've made sufficient noise for whoever is waiting for us in Switzerland."

"Yeah," Nile says, looking down at her phone.

Copley hasn't texted her back but she doesn't have time to send him another message because just then, Andy comes walking through passport check. She's put-together and unruffled, as she looks the three of them over carefully, her eyes landing and staying on Nile.

"I'm fine," Nile says, before Andy can ask. "No one else stopped me."

"I figured," Andy tells them, as she takes a seat. "But I don't like that they knew we were here. No one's supposed to know we're here. We don't come to Malta unless we absolutely have to, and the last time we were here most of these buildings weren't up yet. No one should have been able to trace that house back to us, which means Copley's compromised."

"I don't think Copley had anything to do with this," Nile says.

Andy shakes her head. "Doesn't matter," she says.

"If they know about him, then they know about us," Joe agrees. "And if they can hire hitmen to dress up as policemen, then that means we have a lot of cleaning up to do."

"We have to find whoever is behind this drug," Nicky says, not looking away from the line of people waiting to get into the gate. "And then we have to make sure that they don't know more than they should."

"But it's sounding like they do," Nile says. "Which means we're going to have to do something about it."

"Yes," Andy says. "And we will."

Nile means to argue, not about keeping themselves safe, but about their clear lack of a plan. They're going in blind, even more so now because taking out the fake policemen will have definitely alerted whoever's waiting for them in Switzerland. But just as she's going to ask what the plan is, Booker walks in through airport security. He looks harassed, his jaw clenched in anger. He goes straight for Joe and at first, Nile thinks he means to start something in the middle of Malta International Airport. But Booker just sits down and lays his head on Joe's shoulder.

"No one wake me up until we're in Germany," he says. "I don't care if the airport is burning down. I want to sleep through it."

"Got it," Joe says, pushing Booker's hair out of his face. "But I'm not carrying you into the plane."

Booker mumbles something that gets lost in the general clamor of the people in the airport. The rest of them say nothing more as they wait for their flight to start boarding, and it's much later, when Nile's in her seat, that she remembers her phone. She pulls it out of the backseat pocket in front of her, unlocks it, and sees the little red one above her messenger application. When she opens the app, there's a text from Copley.

He's written back, three separate messages that read, "On it. Have a good flight. Hope arrivals isn't a disaster."

Nile sighs and really hopes things will be easier in Germany.


	5. Momentum

  
_Monday, 2 October 2021  
1230_

Things don't go easier in Germany.

From the moment they land, Joe spots the scattering of armed men in casual clothing, their jackets pulled over their shoulder holsters. He counts ten of them in total, starting from the one sitting at the arrival's gate down to the group hanging around the toilets. They're all glancing at Nile, their eyes tracking her movements as she makes her way down to baggage claim. Andy's just behind Nile, carrying her bag over her shoulder, sunglasses hiding her expression as she casually turns on the spot. She meets Joe's gaze and nods, her eyes straying over to Booker a few people behind them. 

Joe knocks his elbow to Nicky's and goes first, purposefully sidestepping one of the armed men as he closes in on Nile. 

"Sorry," Joe says, angling his face so that the man can get a good look at him.

The recognition is instantaneous, a flash of surprise followed by an aborted attempt to go for his shoulder holster. Joe bats the man's hand away and looks over to where the rest of the group of the same armed men are starting to edge their way closer to Nicky. Booker's in everyone's line of sight but he's being left alone for the time being, and it occurs to Joe that it seems too easy, too preplanned. There's no way that Merrick didn't have files on Andy or Booker. Especially not after Booker was such an eager volunteer. 

But even as Booker and Andy spread out, there's not a hint of recognition on the faces of the armed men. It doesn't sit right that everything is going to plan. They're not the type of people to have everything work out the way they expect. Still, he spares no further thought to the matter as the man in front of him reaches forward, his hand latching onto Joe's right forearm. His movements are practiced, and with the ease of a well-trained fighter, he turns with Joe, getting Joe's arm up behind his back. They could be lovers for all the intimacy of their embrace, Joe held tight against the other man's body, his front blocking Joe's pinned arm. 

Joe tests the hold and as he goes to break it, he sees the other man's hand come up, the flash of a thin silver needle catching his eyes. A sense of disorienting déjà vu washes over him even as he jerks his left arm free, instinctively reaching out to shove the other man's hand away. They falter in their steps, and Joe hears Nicky calling his name. It happens in seconds, in the middle of the crowded Munich Airport, Joe grabs the man's hand and turns around, pressing the needle between their bodies as he tries to get a look at Nicky. 

The black and white tiles of the airport floor are especially jarring against the high ceiling and the glass windows of the terminal. But it's easy to spot Nicky in the jumble of people, his eyes on Joe even as he makes his way around the gathering tourists. They're not causing a scene, the other armed men falling back to blend in with the people. And that's interesting, Joe thinks, even as he pushes closer to the man in front of him, his finger on the needle's plunger. He hears the man's soft gasp, this hiss of an exhale that almost sounds peaceful. 

The next moment the man is falling into Joe's arms, his full weight catching him off-guard. Nicky makes it to them in three long strides, his hands immediately going to Joe.

"Are you all right?" he asks.

Joe shakes his head and motions to the bathroom on their right. Most of the people who walk by are too busy looking at their phones, or pushing their way out of the terminal, to notice that Joe and Nicky are holding up an unconscious man. Still, someone's bound to notice them soon, and there are ten other men spread out over the airport terminal. 

"We have to split up," Nicky says, coming to the same conclusion as Joe.

"Andy's not going to like it," Joe says, already starting to pull the unconscious man toward the bathroom.

They spare one more glance for Andy, Booker, and Nile, but Joe shouldn't have worried. Already, Nile's turned back toward the rest of them, her hand out in an over exaggerated wave. 

"Hey, Book," she says. "We should go get something to eat before we go."

Booker throws his hands up in the air and says, "Nile, I didn't see you there. Let me get Andy."

Joe watches him turn, his eyes scanning the empty seats of the other gates until he finds Andy. Booker points her out and keeps walking, makes a show of it to ensure that none of the men missed it. Then he turns back to Nile, purposely bumping into one of the armed men as he goes. Joe can't hear what Booker says, but he can tell it's something annoying from Booker's shiteating grin. It's confirmed for him when the armed man shoves Booker away, his hand going for something at his side.

It turns out to be a radio and Booker only has time to drop his bag before a sudden scream from the left draws all their attention. It's the woman with the child from Malta, the one in line behind Andy, who almost cried when she couldn't find her passport. She tugs her child close as a group of uniformed police officers turn the corner, weapons drawn, helmets pulled tight over their heads. 

"Shit," Nicky says. "Andy."

They drop the man they're holding and as he hits the floor, Joe finally gets a good look at him. He lands with a heavy thud, his head bouncing off the tile, but what catches Joe off guard is the grey hair that falls off in tufts from the man's head. He still has a hardened edge to his jaw, but there are wrinkles on his face that shouldn't be there on a man of his age. He looks emaciated, skin stuck to bone, liver spots apparent in the spaces where his hair has fallen out. 

Joe saw the pictures in Copley's file. He saw the little obsidian pills that shine like the evening sky under light. He never saw this man take any pills but even as he turns to Nicky, he remembers the flash of a needle, his fingers on a plunger. 

"Nicky," he calls. 

Nicky turns back to him at once, his eyes narrowing in concern as he catches sight of Joe. He's looking him over, checking for wounds, his eyes sliding to the man on the ground and the empty needle not far away. Joe can tell when Nicky works it out, can see the way he steels himself against the memories. Joe doesn't dream about Merrick Pharmaceuticals anymore, but the taste of bile lingers in the back of his throat as he takes in the growing number of armed men. 

It's too much like that day in their safe house, too personal. He looks to Booker without thinking and finds him looking back. He shakes his head but the damage is done, that old hurt flashing across Booker's face as he shoves his way toward Andy. Joe wishes there was a way to erase the past but he can spare no thought for hurt feelings when they're obviously being surrounded. It's up to Booker now to mend his own wounds. There's nothing more Joe can do to convince him he's wanted. 

"We have to run," Joe says.

Nicky glances at the man by Joe's feet and moves to pat him down. He pulls out another syringe and tucks it into his jacket, then tosses Joe the man's weapon. Joe tucks it into his belt, pulling his own jacket closed around himself. They can't fight their way out of the airport. There are too many civilians paying too much attention to the armed police officers. Their best bet is to make for any of the exits and go in as many different directions as they can, split the force so that they can escape. 

Besides, they have to get Andy out of here in one piece. 

Joe catches sight of her across the airport terminal, Booker's hand on her arm as she tries to pull free. Nile's making her way around the quickly dispersing tourists, heading back for Andy and Booker, her gaze set on the group of men coming up from the end of the terminal. Joe glances at the marching police, at the semi-automatics they're carrying. He catches Nicky's eye, raises an eyebrow, and nods at the oncoming group. Nicky blinks once and Joe grins.

"Okay," he says. "You first."

Nicky wastes no time as he rushes straight at the group of oncoming policemen. There's a split second where the group doesn't know what to do as Nicky runs full tilt at them, his eyes on a point behind them. Joe gives it until the first officer's fingers twitch against the trigger of his weapon and then he follows, coming at them from the left. He's distracting enough to give Nicky time to turn away at the last second, barely missing running into the first row of policemen. 

Joe hears Andy's shout behind them but his eyes are on the sliding glass doors in front of him. He barrels into a group of tourists, turning in time to catch a lady who stumbles as he goes. He flashes her a quick grin and keeps going. Running away is not one of his better executed plans, but it works at splitting up the group of men who were surrounding them. He can hear the rhythmic thumping of boots behind him, the startled gasps from other travelers as Joe weaves his way through the most crowded areas. 

Andy's with Nile and Booker, and between the three of them, they'll be able to find another way out of the airport. They all have the same destination and it doesn't matter how they get there as long as they do. Besides, it's been a while since Joe took a train anywhere. He misses the scenic views. 

He's still going, knowing that he's attracting more attention by making his escape as messy as possible. He can imagine Nicky doing the same on the other side of the airport, knows that he needs to get into a taxi as soon as possible and put as much distance as he can between himself and the group following him. He makes it as noisy as he can when he finally pushes through the glass doors. It's freezing outside, the cold air hitting him right in the face and making him gasp, as he waves his hands for a taxi. 

He gets into the first one that pulls up and says, "Train station." 

The driver raises a very judgmental eyebrow but pulls off the curb. As they go, four policemen burst through the sliding doors, their weapons held tight in front of them. Joe rolls down the window and waves, trying to hold down his exhilarated laughter. He's missed being chased across airports because ever since the incident in Budapest, they try to keep their transportation as messy free as possible. Which is why Brazil still stings. 

He sighs as he leans back into his seat, his eyes on the driver. At least he still has his wallet and phone on him, which means it should be easy to touch base with everyone else once he's at the train station. He's just starting to relax as the car merges into the oncoming traffic when the driver gives a quiet cough.

Joe looks up and meets the driver's eyes in the rearview mirror.

"Those cops for you?" the driver asks in accented English.

"Uh…no." Joe says.

The driver narrows his eyes and says nothing as he keeps going. Then, with what sounds like deeply tired resignation, he says, "This will cost extra."

Which, Joe thinks, might be fair. 

-

Andy hates cutting her vacations short, but more than that, she's eternally exhausted of running and letting the others drag her away when she knows she can handle herself. She's been throwing herself out of moving vehicles since their invention and she's had more than one type of gun pointed at her. She's not afraid of twenty armed men. She saw worse with Merrick and she came out of that bruised to hell, but alive. She can handle this, especially when she sees Joe and Nicky split up, each one heading for a different side of the Munich airport, seven of the armed men after them. Most of them go after Joe, which will turn out to be a mistake, but Andy's not going to correct anyone on their assumptions about Nicky. 

She's too busy trying to get ahead of Booker as he tries to push her behind him. 

"Andy, please," he says, when she breaks free of his hold and heads toward Nile. "You're going to get shot and we barely made it out alive the last time that happened."

Andy flips him off. But she knows what he's talking about, the mornings where she wakes up stiff and can find no other way to vent her anger than to curse the aches. She doesn't heal as fast as she used to, and every mission they go on takes a little more out of her. It's her body aging, her cells remembering that they have thousands of years to catch up with. She's running on a little less than four hours of sleep right now, and though she's gone with less, her hand hasn't stopped shaking since she took the three shots of espresso in Malta. 

"Andy," Booker calls again, as Nile catches up to them. 

She stops right in front of Andy, her eyes on the men around the terminal. There are nine of them, most of them in civilian clothing, one or two, wearing police uniforms. Andy doesn't bother pushing past Nile. She knows what battles to fight, and it helps the others to know there's someone Andy will listen to. It helps her to know that Nile is there, and unsure though she may be of her place in the world, her presence centers Andy. 

"We have to get out of here," Nile says.

Booker grimaces. "And where exactly are we supposed to go? We can't exactly follow Joe and Nicky. I don't want to run into more people with guns."

They're by stairs and when Andy looks down, she sees that they lead to the food court with an ever-increasing crowd fighting their way to the front of the looping lines. If they can make it down there, they can get lost in the people, keep low until they can find a way out. It's the best option they have. Besides, Andy's sure that the people chasing them aren't actual policemen. She can tell from the way they move, and the weapons they hold, that they're private hires. She's never seen that kind of equipment on regular policemen, and the ones dressed as civilians smell like mercenaries. She doesn't like how expensive it feels, knows that people who throw their money around that easily tend to be the most ruthless. Merrick was a perfect example. 

"We have to try to catch our flight to Switzerland," Andy says.

"What?" Nile asks, without turning around.

She's standing with her back to Andy. In front of her, the armed men have gathered near the bathroom where Joe and Nicky left their fallen comrade. They have maybe half a minute to move before someone spots them. 

"I'll explain later," Andy says. 

She looks up, catches Booker's eyes, and nods at the stairs that lead to the food court. He gets it immediately, starting down without another word. 

"Nile, let's go," Andy says, tugging on her shoulder. 

Nile turns at last, her eyes searching for Booker. 

"Let's go," Andy says again. 

Nile shakes her head. "You first," she says.

There are some fights that are worth it, Andy thinks, as she heads down the stairs without another word. Then there are fights that she knows she's not going to win, ones where it's easier to just do as she's told and hope for the best. Ones that used to involve cold winter nights, huddled around the fire, while Quynh went out to check the perimeter. And it isn't the first time that Nile's done something that reminds her of Quynh. They have the same ability to see through Andy's bullshit, to call her out when they need to, though Nile is much kinder about it, says more with her eyes than with her words. 

On bad nights, when Andy hurts down to her bones and can't sleep, she thinks that she's betraying Quynh. That perhaps she's not entitled to the peace that comes with knowing Nile is here, and will be here long after Andy's gone. She feels like she's getting away too easily, hasn't repented enough for the way she left Quynh. She doesn't feel like she deserves easy, doesn't know how to take that unrelenting compassion from Nile, and the protection they all want to provide for Andy. She's not used to receiving. She doesn't get that. Not after everything she's done in her life. 

She doesn't know what to do with herself if she needs them more than they need her. 

"Boss?" comes Booker's voice from somewhere to Andy's right.

She turns, shaking herself out of her thoughts. She's been down that inevitably dark road before and now isn't the time to do it again. They have to get out without being captured and Andy's a liability these days, which means she has to put in the extra effort to get them out of their current situation.

"We get lost in the people, Book," she says. "Try to blend in until we can catch our flight." 

"What about Joe and Nicky?" Nile asks.

Andy shakes her head as the three of them head into the crowd in front of them. On one of the empty tables, there's a hat and Andy grabs it as she goes. She tosses it to Booker and he slips it onto his head in one smooth motion. They split up a little as they go, Booker heading off toward the coffees, Nile heading toward the nearest line for food, Andy just behind her. They stand in line, eyes down, as Andy tries to keep a lookout for any of the armed men from before. She doesn't think they've lost them forever, and she's sure that there will be more people waiting for them in Switzerland. But if she could just figure out how they found her, they might be able to get one step ahead of whoever is hunting them down. 

She pulls out her ticket, more to have something to do than because she expects any answers from it. But as soon as her eyes land on the name, she knows what happened. She's using the name Anne Langley, out of a sense of sentimentality. They know better than to repeat anything too much. It's too dangerous to establish a pattern, so the last time Andy ever used this alias, it was the fifteen hundreds, when Quynh was still around to make fun of it. She delighted in the fact that Andy made a terrible Anne and an even worse Langley, but it was worth it just to see Quynh laughing. 

She hasn't used it since then because it hurts to think about Quynh, moreso now that Andy knows she doesn't have much time left. She always hoped that she might see Quynh again, that the centuries would move fast and technology would evolve enough that she might find an iron coffin in the miles upon miles of ocean. 

She's been feeling nostalgic recently, struggling with putting parts of herself away so that she can enjoy the time she has left. At some point, she won't be able to go on missions anymore and she needs to be ready to keep going when that time comes. She has to learn how to want less, to keep to herself so that the others can work out who they are without her. But it's easier to know these things than it is to actually mold herself into a person who will be okay with retiring. 

It hasn't helped that everyone around her is so in their heads about the damn pill. She can see it in the way Nile refuses to talk about it and the way Booker's gone quiet. She can practically hear him screaming in excitement at the idea that he can have a way out. It infuriates her to know that after all this time, he still wants to die, that he prefers the easy way out instead of fighting to live. It's not the way they do things, or it shouldn't be the way they do things. Andy knows what that's like, can feel the weight of a thousand years wanting to die weighing heavy on her. She wishes she had shown Booker something better, wishes that she could say that his family was shit and that he didn't deserve the way they tossed him out. But it's too late. He won't believe her if she tells him now.

She turns involuntary toward Nile, and she should know better than to put Booker's grievances on Nile. She's still so young, still trying to come to terms with losing her parents. She shouldn't have to fix Booker, shouldn't have to keep being Andy's wall to lean on. The problem is that there's no time to give her space to grow into her role. There's no one else for Andy to teach. Nile's all any of them have. 

"Nile," Andy whispers. "We can't take the flight to Switzerland."

"Oh, good," Nile says under her breath, her eyes still downcast as she stands on the slowly moving line. "Because I'm not looking forward to doing this again when we land."

"I know how they found us, but we can talk about that later," she says. "We have to find a car. And it's probably best if Booker rents it."

Nile nods and steps out of the line. Andy waits as Nile gets Booker. She says something to him and he nods once and heads off, disappearing into the general airport traffic. Nile loops back, her posture casual even as she takes stock of the room. She's good at passing off her searching looks as natural movements, and Andy spares a thought for how they never seem to find an immortal who starts at zero. So far, all of them have come with some form of combat training. Copley's noticed too. She saw the pad on his desk a year ago, the way he calls them "the old guard" in his notes, as though they're some kind of grand defenders. 

If she ever had a purpose, it's lost in the years she's wasted. Everything else, she chose for herself. She forced herself to want to do good because to do nothing was worse. And over the years, she's convinced these people who follow her that she knows what she's doing, convinced herself that she can lead them. She sighs, shaking her head against the intrusive thoughts. Even if she doesn't know who she's supposed to be anymore, or what her long-term purpose is, she knows one thing: they have to get out of this alive. So by the time Nile makes it back on the line, Andy's gathered herself enough to turn to her with steady eyes.

"Booker says to give him ten minutes and then meet him in the parking lot," Nile says.

She says nothing for a moment, as though she's waiting for Andy to speak. And the longer they stare at each other, the less Andy knows what she's supposed to say.

"What?" she asks. 

Nile shakes her head. "Something's bothering you," she says. "And normally, I'd keep out of it because we're not on a run, but if your head's not in this, Andy, then you have to let us know."

"I'm all right," Andy says.

She can see that Nile doesn't fully believe her, but after another moment, she nods. 

"Okay," she says. "I'm with you, if you're with us. That's all that matters."

But they both know Andy's been pulling away these past few months, hasn't been with them as much as she could be. And she knows better than to get into her own head, to let sentimentality take place over careful planning. She knows better than to repeat aliases. Copley has her face and her names, and has had every piece of her that he could dig up plastered over his home office. If Copley's ever compromised, repeating a name might be enough for anyone to find them. 

Andy knows better. Copley brought them Randy, told them that Randy talked to other people and asked for favors. She knows better than this. 

"Let's go," she says.

Nile nods and leads the way, swerving in between tables and people carrying food trays. As they go, Andy thinks back over all the fragmented pieces of information that she has. She thinks of Randy and gets stuck for a moment on the way Copley stepped in front of him, the defensive stance when Booker patted him down. They all know Randy means something to Copley, and try as she might to find excuses, Andy knows the things a person can do for someone they care about. 

She searched for years at sea, dragging Nicky and Joe with her. She paid little attention to what they needed or what would keep them safe because she had to find Quynh. Andy knows the dangerous games a person can play when someone they care about is at risk. She knows that no matter how much Copley loved his wife, memories don't warm a bed. 

"Nile," she says. "Has Copley gotten back to you?"

Nile glances at her phone and shakes her head. "Why?" she asks. "You think someone got to him this fast?"

"Someone knew we were in Malta," Andy says. "I reused an alias that Copley knows about and they found us here."

Andy can already hear Nile's denial, but before she can say anything, they make it to the large glass doors leading outside. As they pass from the airport into the parking lot, the first thing that registers is the cold, the frigid air burning Andy's cheeks almost at once. She shivers in her thin jacket and turns on the spot to look for Booker. Nile moves closer to her, as she cranes her neck to look over the parked cars. 

It doesn't take long for Booker to find them and pull up in a black four-seater. Nile opens the back and ducks inside, slamming the door closed. Andy follows, taking her usual seat in the front. 

As soon as all the doors are closed, Booker turns to them and says, "So, are we all on the same page about Copley?"

"He hasn't answered me," Nile says, checking her phone again. 

Andy and Booker exchange a look and she knows without Booker having to say it. He doesn't believe that Copley turned them in.

"Listen," Andy says. "Whether we like it or not, Copley's compromised. Randy proves that. And that means that he's probably the reason these people found us so soon."

"Wait, what?" Nile asks. "You think Copley did this?"

She's gesturing to the airport terminal, her cellphone clutched in her hand, eyebrows raised in disbelief. 

"It wasn't Copley," Booker says. "Not on purpose."

Andy turns to him and in the silence between them hang the months where Booker slept by himself, those endless nights when alcohol was his only means for finding a good night's rest. He doesn't need to tell them that he was miserable without them, that every time he picked up the bottle, he hoped he wouldn't wake up the next day. Andy knows it's true the way she knows the sound of his steps in their home in Malta, the same way she knows it's Joe every morning in the kitchen, awake before all of them. She knows him like she knows herself, the same desperation lives in both of them, that chase for peace that they've always thought existed at the bottom of a bottle. She knows him, so she knows how much it's going to hurt him if Copley turned them in. And no matter what she wants to believe, she knows better than to let anyone off a second time.

"He knows about us, Book," Andy says. "He knew about the aliases we were using. He knows the ones we've used in the past."

"What would be the point?" Nile asks. "More of Merrick's bullshit experiments? Why?"

Andy sighs. She doesn't know how to say that people have done worse for much less. That people do impossibly heinous things for the promise of a better tomorrow. She's seen men fall for empty promises. If the person making the God Killer has access to Merrick's experiments, then they have access to his attempts at bottling immortality, and immortality goes a long way in tempting good people. And Copley, for all that he's helped them over the last year, betrayed them first. 

Booker's different. Booker's family. Copley's not.

Andy looks at Nile and it's easier to shake her head and say, "We won't know until we talk to him."

"So we go back for Copley," Booker says. 

Nile turns to look at him and Andy can tell she's thinking the same thing. 

"We can't go back," Andy says. "If they knew we were in Malta, then chances are they know about the house. We don't know what's waiting for us back there."

"Copley's there by himself," Nile says.

Andy can see the echoes of sympathy in Booker's eyes. She knows it's not born out of any particular concern for Copley. It's guilt, heavy burdensome things that will haunt Booker for however long he lets them. He and Copley did something they regretted together, so it makes sense that Booker feels a kinship with him, some desire to prove himself through Copley's absolution. They don't have time for these things though, not with Joe and Nicky missing. Not with drugs that kill can age people hitting the market. 

"I texted Copley earlier," Nile says, when the silence has stretched for an uncomfortably long time. "But I haven't heard from him.

It's almost funny how little they talk about important things these days, how Booker shuts himself away because he thinks he should. Andy hasn't told them how much she wants to grab them all and scream that she's not breakable, that for as long as she's able, she's going to keep going on missions. She wants to shake Booker until all the sad pieces fall at her feet, and then she wants to put him together anew. She wishes he didn't want to die so much, that she knew, once she was gone, he would keep going. She wants him to want it, to really want it, and not just because he thinks it's what Andy needs to hear. 

But they're in Germany, not talking about how Booker needs to know that Copley's reformed, that he can be too. 

Nile coughs. "If it isn't Copley and we left him and Randy alone," she starts.

"There's nothing we can do, except follow this to the end," Andy says, her eyes sweeping around the airport parking lot. 

To their far right, there are cars making their way in and out, a couple of them U-turning to get into the empty parking spaces. Down the corridor that leads back to the airport terminal, Andy can see the wave of people pulling their suitcases. Some of them stop and turn, blocking the flow of traffic, and she can see the universal sign of exasperated travelers, the pause as they breathe before walking around those in the way. 

She hears Booker and Nile discussing the pros and cons of trying to go back for Copley, knows they'll land firmly on no. She starts turning, intending to hurry them along when she catches sight of a police officer in black, holding a gun that's not standard issue. He's alone, distracted by a group of people holding out papers and shaking them in his face. 

"We're not going back," she says.

"We can at least try calling him again," Nile says.

Andy shakes her head. "If it wasn't Copley, then whoever is chasing us probably caught him too. And if they have him, they know that he matters to us and plan to use him as leverage. But if we want to know if it was Copley who betrayed us, then we can find out easily enough."

"Right," Booker says, nodding. "We find whoever is making the pill and find out who's working for them."

"So for now, we meet up with Joe and Nicky," Nile says. "In Switzerland?"

"In Switzerland," Booker agrees. "Right, boss?"

Andy makes a noncommittal noise, her eyes on the police officer at the end of the hallway. She sees the last group of people start to leave and makes her decision on the spot. Fuck waiting. She's never pretended that she's patient, and the easiest way to figure out whether or not Copley's involved is to beat it out of someone who knows. So, with eyes on the armed man in the distance, she pushes the car door open.

"Give me ten minutes," she says.

"What? Why?" she hears Nile call after her.

But Andy slams the door closed, and is gone.


	6. Reflections

_Monday, 2 October 2021  
1500_

The Munich train station is sparsely decorated with strings of lights that hang over the small shop by the ticket booths. All around them, there are people rushing by, coats rustling as they make their way to the appropriate platform. Joe holds his two tickets in one of his hands, the one to Winterthur above the one to Zurich. To his left, Nicky watches the arrivals and departures board, looking for their platform number. Joe keeps an eye on the people around them, turning as though he's taking it all in as he looks for any sign of someone following them.

He hasn't asked how Nicky got away yet or whether he managed to talk to anyone else before he lost his cellphone. Joe left his in the taxi after deeming it too risky to keep, and he's sure Andy and the rest of them have dumped theirs by now. They've been followed since Malta, which means whoever is involved in the God Killer production knows about them. They have to be extra careful because Joe is not going to end up strapped to another chair so soon after Merrick. 

"This way," Nicky says.

He heads to their right, past the bustling shops and the crowds of people making their way to their platforms. They head down the boardwalk leading to platforms thirteen and fourteen, all the way to the end where the open space gives way to a metal wall. From there, Joe presses his back to Nicky and they keep their eyes on opposite ends of the platform, both of them on guard as they wait for their train to pull up. Neither of them say anything until it does, though Joe can tell that Nicky's thinking hard about something. 

He's quieter than usual, shoulders tense, and as the red and white train to Winterthur pulls into the station, he takes a step away from Joe. Joe doesn't say anything as the train doors swoosh open. They wait for all the people to get out, Joe keeping a close eye on the boarding passengers. He's sure they're not being followed, and the fact that they'll have to change trains at least two times before getting to Zurich, means that the chances they'll bring a tail to the others is unlikely. Still, they're cautious as they head down the train compartment, the large windows giving them a clear view to the platform. 

Nicky picks the seats right in the middle. It's a four-seater, two pairs facing each other. Joe goes to take the seat facing the opposite way the train is going but Nicky beats him to it, sliding in and giving Joe a small smile.

"Sit," he says.

Joe rolls his eyes but takes the seat diagonal from Nicky. There's more than enough space for them to stretch their legs and they have some time before their first transfer. If there's a time to rest, it's now. But Nicky stares out the window, his forehead pressed to the glass, and Joe knows something's bothering him. 

"What's wrong, Nicolò?" he asks. 

Nicky is quiet for a moment too long, and by the time he finally turns to answer, their train has started its way out of the Munich train station. 

"It's these pills," Nicky says, grimacing. "They make me think things I don't want to."

_Ah_ , Joe thinks as he looks at Nicky, _the pills_. 

They're all thinking about the pills in some form or another. He knows Booker is, the way he goes quiet and sad giving him away better than any declaration could. Though Booker may think that Joe can't understand, the years that Joe's lived still count for something. He knows the feeling of uncertainty that taints every one of Booker's waking moments, that infuriating voice that Joe knows too well, the one that tells him that one day everything will be taken from him. He and Booker may have started out differently but they both grew to fear loss. Because true though it may be that Joe has Nicky, has always had Nicky, it's also true that, the same way Booker lost his family, one day, Joe might wake up and Nicky won't.

Which is why he also can't stop thinking about the blasted pills. 

"What are you thinking?" Joe asks.

Nicky shrugs and Joe knows this silence, understands that Nicky needs a moment to parse through his emotions. They're almost opposites when it comes to knowing what they feel. Nicky needs time to work through his thoughts, while Joe can always identify the emotions stirring within him, that ache that sits in his chest and speaks to impossible things. He doesn't like thinking about the day that Nicolò and he will separate, though he knows it's inevitable. One day, like Andy, one of them will stop healing, and though a part of him believes the world wouldn't be so cruel as to leave him behind, he can't be sure. 

He sits back, the firm padded backrest lulling him into a false sense of relaxation. Out the window, he can see the rolling fields of dying grass as the October chill sets in. The packed clouds, hanging like overstuffed balloons in the distance, promise precipitation. Joe hopes it's snow even if he won't be in Munich to see it. He hates the cold, but there's something about fields of untouched snow, stretching forever, that calms him. He could learn to live in the vast fields of white, that seemingly endless reach toward a fading horizon, uncertain and unknown, so unlike the claustrophobic bustle of cities. The anonymity the cities provide is necessary, but, perhaps, when the time is right, they'll retire to a quiet place, somewhere the city sounds can't reach them, where the eternal fields turn white in the winter.

"Do you ever think of what we'll do once it's over?" Joe asks. 

He hears Nicky's sharp inhale and knows he's hit a sensitive subject. When he turns to look, Nicky's watching him with wide eyes, his mouth slightly open. Joe hasn't seen that look on Nicky's face since the last time they killed each other.

"What is it?" he asks, changing his seat so that he can press his shoulder to Nicky and take his hand. 

"It's only these God Killers," Nicky says, shaking his head. "They force me to think about unpleasant things."

"I wouldn't call them unpleasant," Joe says. 

The pills, if anything, make everything easier. If they can age people, if they can perhaps age Joe, then the rest of his life is simple. He lives and fights until the day Nicky can't anymore, and then he takes the pills, and they go together. Because that's what's meant to happen. If Nicky goes, Joe does too. 

"What are you thinking, Joe?" Nicky asks, quietly. 

"Nothing new," Joe says. "Only that if the pills work, I wouldn't mind having them on hand, just in case."

"Just in case?"

"Yes," Joe says, caught off guard by the sudden anger in Nicky's voice. "Wouldn't you?"

Nicky turns in his seat so that he's facing Joe. He's frowning again, a small crease in between his eyebrows that Joe wants to smooth away. He doesn't mean to upset Nicky, but their truth is that they were brought into this world together and they will leave it together. Having something that can guarantee that isn't a bad thing. It's perhaps the one good thing to come out of all this mess.

"Why would I want pills that kill mortals?" Nicky asks, raising an eyebrow. 

It seems wrong to say, "because they might work on us," and Joe suddenly understands why Nicky's upset. 

"No, my love," he says, reaching out to smooth away Nicky's frown. "I don't mean that I'm thinking of taking these pills now."

He laughs, thinking about the years behind him, the ones he has yet to live, all the things he and Nicky haven't done. To want his life to end seems laughable because there's so much Joe has to live for. 

"I don't think this is funny," Nicky says.

Joe reaches out to take his other hand. "My love," he says. "As long as you're here with me, I have no need for these pills."

He expects Nicky to calm down, so he's not prepared for the way Nicky almost seems to recoil. He takes his hands from Joe and sits sideways, clenching his jaw, his hands curling into fists on his lap. Joe leans away and tries to give him space. He knows he's misunderstood something and upset Nicky, but no matter how hard he tries to figure out what he might have said, he can't come up with anything. 

"Are you trying to tell me that you would use these pills—" Nicky breaks off, his eyes going wide before he continues, his voice much lower this time, a current of barely suppressed rage underneath. "If something happened to me, you would want to take these pills? You would want to die?"

Joe blinks. "Nicolò," he says, frowning in confusion. "I thought we understood each other. If you go, I go."

"Yusuf," Nicky says, slowly. "What are you talking about?"

It seems impossible that Nicky could be confused. They must have had this conversation before, even if it was in passing. But as Joe looks at Nicky and the panic that fills his eyes, he thinks he understands what happened. Perhaps this is one of the things they don't talk about, because this is one thing Nicolò can't talk about, because to think these things upsets him more than not talking about them upsets Joe. 

He should let it go, means to move back to his seat and sleep until they have to transfer trains, but Nicky's looking at him, that unwavering gaze burning into the side of Joe's face. 

"We don't have to—" Joe starts.

Nicky shakes his head. "Say what you mean, Joe."

"I only meant that I always worry about what would happen if one of us went and the other one stayed," Joe says, trying to curb the argument he can sense coming. "I know you think these things too, even if you don't like talking about them. I heard about the pills and it occurred to me that if they work on us, then we don't have to worry about that anymore. That felt like a relief to me. I didn't mean anything else."

It's the wrong thing to say. Joe can tell the minute the words are out of his mouth that he would have been better off staying quiet. Nicky doesn't say anything right away. He simply gets up and takes the seat across from Joe, slotting their knees together but keeping his distance elsewhere. Joe watches Nicky's slow intake of breath, the way he closes his eyes as he tries to calm himself. Emotion lives on the outer corners of Nicky's mouth and at the edges of his eyes, that small twitch of his mouth and the tic in his eyelid that speak to how angry he is. 

"Joe," Nicky says. "You can't mean that. Absolutely not. You have to live. No matter what happens, you live."

"What are you talking about?" Joe asks. 

He's caught off guard by the force of Nicky's anger, and as he watches Nicky chewing the inside of his cheek, it occurs to Joe that perhaps he's misunderstood more than he originally thought. Perhaps they made a mistake in not talking about this. Perhaps he shouldn't have let the conversation go just because Nicolò doesn't want to think about this potential future. Perhaps what he's done by avoiding this talk is to ensure that when the time comes, Joe will be ready and Nicky won't. 

"Listen," Joe starts. 

"Joe," Nicky says at the same time. 

They're both quiet in the aftermath, neither of them saying anything as the last of the houses disappears on their right, the view giving way to open fields and packed trees in the distance. The clouds in the sky threaten rain or snow, impossible to tell which as the train speeds by. Joe can't remember if he was cold when he got off the plane. 

"Listen to me," Nicky says, reaching out to take Joe's hand. "If the world is the least bit fair, you won't go first."

"Okay," Joe says. "Say I go first. What do you do?"

Nicky jerks back as though he's been struck, and Joe regrets asking the question almost immediately. He means to say that he's tired, that it's the stress of not knowing how the others are, of thinking that there could be a new Merrick loose in the world. The truth is that he didn't expect the pills to hit this hard, to jolt old wounds he's learned to bury. They could have died on Merrick's table, flayed open again and again until they just didn't heal. None of them know the when, but they know the how. If they're lucky, they'll know easy like Andy did. If they're not, one day during a mission, he'll wake and Nicky won't. The pills just make it worse, make him think that there's hope. 

He means to let it go but the thought sticks with him, the way Nicky's so sure it has to be Joe first, as though he has a plan for how to continue after Joe's gone. It stings more than it should to know that Nicolò has a plan for after, that he and Joe saw the same problem and came to drastically different conclusions. 

"Whatever you're thinking, I can assure you it isn't true," Nicky says. 

Joe looks at his knees, the seams of his jeans where a small bit of fluff lays. He can practically hear Nicky thinking across from him, knows that he'll be looking at the curls on Joe's head, that blank look on his face that he gets when he's frustrated. Joe can read Nicky like the open book he is, every bit of himself expressive in ways that are difficult for others to understand. He's quiet in voice only, loud with everything else, and Joe knows the argument isn't worth it. 

"Listen, Nicolò," he says. "I—"

"You're angry," Nicky says.

"I'm not," Joe says before he can stop himself.

Nicky snorts and even that sounds annoyed. "You're speaking Spanish," he says. "You're angry."

Joe presses his lips shut and turns away, back to the rolling fields and the occasional flurry. The clouds mean snow, then, and Joe's only wearing a jacket. He spares a thought for his backpack, lost as it is to Munich Airport. Nicky's carrying some of his things too though, so it's not all bad, but at the rate they're going, they'll both be too angry to share once they get to the others. 

"Joe, listen to me, my love," Nicky says, and Joe turns to him almost against his will. 

Nicky smiles at him a little sadly and it's enough to ease the annoyance that was making its home in Joe's chest. 

"We don't have to," Joe says.

Nicky shakes his head. "I owe you an answer," he says. "I...if it ever came down to it, if you went first, I'd spend the rest of my life making sure that whoever was responsible paid for what they did to you."

"What do you mean?" Joe asks. "Who would do what to me?"

"Whoever killed you," Nicky says, as though it's obvious. "I would hunt down whoever killed you."

"What if no one killed me?"

Nicky gives him a blank, unimpressed look, the kind that says Joe's being obtuse on purpose, the kind that gets right under Joe's skin. "Joe, when our time comes, we will go down fighting," Nicky says. "Look at us, Joe. Look at what we did in Munich, what we're doing now. This is who we are. We will die fighting for what we think is right."

"Okay," Joe says, wishing he had never started this conversation. 

He wants to lean his head against the cold window and watch as the fields blur with the houses in the distance. He should say nothing at all, but the thought lingers at the back of his head, this intrusive voice telling him that he needs to hear what Nicky has to say, that he needs to push just this once. 

"So what happens after, Nicolò?" Joe asks, taking care that he's not speaking Spanish. 

"What do you mean?" 

"You've killed whoever killed me, what happens next?"

Nicky opens his mouth but says nothing. For a while, they just stare at each other, Nicky's blue eyes seeming so much brighter in the fluorescent train lights. 

"What would you do if no one killed me and I still went first?" Joe asks. 

"I...you won't."

He sounds so certain that Joe almost believes him, almost lets it go. He knows it's not the time for this talk but they've started and Joe would be a liar if he said he knew how to stop. They'll just have to ride the inevitable unhappy end all the way to Zurich.

"But if I did?" Joe asks.

"You won't."

"Nicolò, you can't know that," Joe says, and he doesn't mean for it to come out so pleading. "What if it was me who went first?"

Nicky shakes his head.

"What would you do?"

"I don't know, Joe," he says at last, his voice low but full of rage. "I don't know."

"You don't know?" Joe asks, and it's easier to let the hurt win out, to use it as an excuse to end the conversation. "We should get ready. We're supposed to transfer at the next stop."

"Joe, listen," Nicky says, reaching out to take Joe's hand. "This isn't the time. We shouldn't be fighting over this, that's why I didn't want to talk about it."

"No," Joe says, getting up. "You never do."

-

_Monday, 2 October, 2021  
1955_

Nicky could murder Joe with his bare hands, just grab him and shake him until he sees sense. Their stupid insubstantial arugment still rings in his ears, that dejected look on Joe's face forever seared into his mind. They don't talk about what they'd do if they woke up without the other. They just hope it doesn't happen and give everything they have in prayer, or supplication, to the unknown that brought them here. Whenever he wakes, Nicky prays Joe wakes too. And they live, forever shirking thoughts of after, never lingering on the what ifs or maybes. He doesn't think about it because to imagine a world where he exists and Yusuf does not is more than Nicky can bear.

But it's just like him to know the right thing to say when it's too late, when Joe's closed off and refuses to talk to him. He wishes he could just reach over and take Joe into his arms, press reassurances into his hair. He wants to say that the reason he answered the way he did was because it was instinctual, because he reacted to a new situation. Joe having a plan threw him off, made everything more real, made it so that Nicky was painfully aware that he can't live in a world without Joe. That he can't even spare a thought for imagining a moment when he might have to. And he can't bring himself to start that conversation again. It's better to give Joe space, to allow the hurts to settle before they talk. Besides, Nicky doesn't think he can do this again so soon.

He sits in the train going from Winterthur to Zurich, knowing the ride is too short for him to make anything right, knowing too that they have other things to do once they meet up with Andy and the others. He and Joe have to wait, but Nicky vows to find time to talk later, to have the painful conversations. Once they get to Zurich. Once everything calms down a bit. 

Yet as the train slows down, he can't help but try anyway. "Joe," he says, not knowing if he means to apologize or not.

Joe turns his head but doesn't move it from the window, his brown eyes shining in the shitty train lights, his expression so heartbreakingly pleading that Nicky can't bring himself to say anything as they look at each other. The train slows, the brakes screeching as they pull into the Zurich train station with its stone and glass ceiling, the wide open space making everything seem so much darker in the afternoon sun. Their train compartment is empty save for themselves and Nicky's bag. He doesn't move as the doors hiss, signaling their intent to open.

"We're here," Joe says. 

He stands first, snatching up Nicky's backpack and pulling it on. Nicky follows after him, keeping his eye out for anyone who might be looking at them too closely. There are a couple of people getting off with them, and Joe and Nicky slow down, letting everyone head off the platform before them. They walk together, Joe unusually quiet as they head outside, the cold fall air hitting Nicky hard. He takes off his coat without a word and hands it to Joe. 

"Please," he says, before Joe can say no.

Joe pulls it on and Nicky does his best to stop his relieved smile. He wishes it were easier to say what he means, to just be able to look at Joe and say that he hates fighting. They're different people, and Nicky still hasn't been able to shake off the hurt child who learned to keep things in. He's a different man now, centuries removed from the guilt and the shame, from the falseness of the church. But scars linger, and Nicky's never been one to just be able to say what he feels without thinking and rethinking. 

"Zurich has the football museum, doesn't it?" Joe asks.

He says it pleasantly enough, and if it weren't for the way he can't quite meet Nicky's eyes, they could just be having a normal everyday conversation. 

"I can find out," Nicky says. "Is it Booker's turn to choose where we meet?"

"No, it's my turn," Joe says, following the crowd of people, the tourists and their maps, as they head toward the taxis waiting outside. 

"And you choose football," Nicky says, smiling as he thinks of Joe and Booker's loud excitement whenever a game is on. 

They don't have a favorite team, or a favorite league. Most times, Joe and Booker flip a coin to see who roots for the home team and who cheers for the other. Nicky has no opinion on football but he enjoys watching the joy Joe gets out of it, that laughter when his team scores. 

He sighs as Joe finds a taxi and gives directions to the FIFA World Football Museum. They say nothing as they go through Zurich, the heat from the car fogging up the windows. Nicky's fingers ache as they warm, pinpricks of feeling running down to his palm. He clenches his fist and stares forward at the black seat in front of him and the ticking meter marking the price of their ride. He can feel Joe next to him, and if it weren't for the driver, if it weren't for the train stopping, if it weren't for the fact that they're being chased down by unknown groups, they might talk. 

But they're in public and Nicky has to pay attention to their surroundings, eyes open for anyone suspicious. There's no time for personal problems, especially with Andy and the others missing. They're in enemy territory, even if they're still miles away from the location Copley gave them, and bad things happen when they let their guard down. 

When they finally get out of the car and are standing in front of the museum, Joe takes a moment just to look at the building in front of them. Nicky watches him, wanting to reach out and press his fingers into Joe's smile. He's beautiful in the fading sun, his hair falling over his eyes as he takes it all in. He's still wearing Nicky's coat, and though the wind is biting, Nicky would gladly stay outside as long as Joe needed. 

Nicky turns to look at the museum, too, wanting to see what about it has captured Joe. He can't see what's so special about the glass entrance with its changing lights and sliding doors. He finds the other floors above the museum more interesting, the different sections made to look like blocks stacked unevenly, with jutting sides and imperfectly lined borders. It's an interesting choice made all the more pleasing by the gray bricks and the wide windows. 

"We should go inside," Joe says, finally.

Nicky nods, eyes still on the top of the building, trying to make out the shape of the last floor. He can tell that it's not rectangular, but he's unsure if he's seeing a trapezoid or a triangle. 

"It's a nice building," he says. 

"Yes," Joe answers, his tone mild and calm. "It is."

They walk through the door, Joe waiting for Nicky to go first. 

"I'll go check the front desk," Joe says. 

He doesn't wait for Nicky to answer as he heads further in. There's a bored young woman staring at her phone behind the front desk, but she puts it down when she sees Joe, already smiling even though he isn't all the way there yet. Nicky shakes his head, unable to help the rush of affection he feels. He steps to the side, turning away to look into the museum as best he can. He can't hear what Joe's saying to the girl at the front, but they've all gone through this so many times, it's second nature. 

Joe will be asking if anyone found a cellphone. They're doing black Samsungs this year, so if Andy and the others have been here, there will be a phone that unlocks with the passcode, 1994, for Nile. It used to be Booker's birth year but, as the youngest, Nile gets the honor. It's the only way to prevent confusion like the time Booker got accused of stealing in Las Vegas. Though honestly, it was his own fault for not listening when Joe gave them all the passcode. They use birth years now, easier to remember and harder to mess up. 

Joe comes back quickly, a black cellphone in one hand. He waves it at Nicky and nods toward the entrance. They go, the air somehow colder, bringing goosebumps to Nicky's arms. He tries not to shiver, but Joe takes off the coat and gives it back, sticking his hand in his jeans' pockets. 

"We're going to freeze," Nicky says. 

"Yes, we are," Joe says. "We're going to the mountains. Andy got us a house."

-

_Monday, 2 October, 2021  
2230_

La Punt Chamues-ch sits in the Maloja region in the Swiss Canton of Graubünden. The small town lays on a valley near a clear river, the snow-covered mountains extending toward the sky in the distance. From the car, it seems as though the town is surrounded on one side, the other giving way to flatland. As they make their way to their rented house, the light of the car reveals fields of untouched snow that vanish in the distance. The dark here is different from Malta, something heavy and alive. Outside of the car lights, there's nothing for miles, just the silence that comes with small towns.

Nile shivers in her seat even through the heat of the car, thinking of endless desert and oppressive heat. She was always hot in Afghanistan, even when she was in her tent and the day was relatively cool. She can feel the phantom dryness now as she leans her head against the window, the cold numbing her until she feels nothing. Next to her, Booker is asleep, Andy sitting by herself in the front. She feels alone all of a sudden, overly aware of the difference between her and the rest of them. She's twenty-seven, unused to the cold Swiss air, unable to sleep when she can tell danger is near. 

"You all right?" Andy asks. 

"Yeah," Nile says, automatically. 

Andy doesn't say anything but Nile can feel her patient silence, and she's a little surprised at how much the quiet calms her. She thinks it's the way Andy presents herself, unshakeable, the one consistent thing they have. She got to them all first, brought them into her life and gave them a place in her home. 

How is Nile ever meant to take her place? How can she be a refuge for the others when she still loses her breath before missions?

She sighs. "We have a man in the trunk of our car," she says.

Andy shrugs. "Call it reinforcing social norms." 

Nile rolls her eyes. "Durkheim," she says. "Deviance leads to punishment which reinforces social norms. Not that it matters. Booker's still asleep and I'm not telling him he lost twenty Euro."

Andy laughs, the sound bright and loud in their rented car. Booker mumbles in his sleep but doesn't wake, and Nile finds herself relaxing without meaning to. If Booker can sleep, then they're safe. He and Nicky have that in common, though Nile knows that the others depend more on Nicky than they do on Booker, because Booker wakes but Nicky acts. Still, Nile's alert and more than ready to move should it become necessary. She only needs Booker to let her know when she should. 

As Andy comes to the last house at the foot of the mountains, it occurs to Nile that she's been relying on the others more than she originally thought. She knows what time it is by the sounds of Joe in the kitchen, by where he is and what he's doing when they're on vacation. She can read Nicky's minute shifts in expression when they're on missions, knows where to go from a single jerk of his head. She's learning their languages, relying on what they know to fill in the gaps she has. It's a startling discovery, the idea that Nile's started to depend on others, how Andy goes missing some days, stepping back to allow Nile to fit in with everyone else. She never even noticed when she started measuring herself by the things the others did, and it's a little frightening to think that she's already blending into who they are. 

She never wanted to lose herself like that.

But before she can spiral into the usual mess of who she really is and what she really wants, Andy pulls to a stop. By the porch light, Nile can see the low wooden fence that wraps around the yard and the white, two-story house. There's a thick blanket of snow over everything, on the tiles of the house and the farmhouse next to it. The house itself is an interesting design, though from what Nile's seen of Switzerland, they tend to favor geometrically interesting layouts to their buildings. It's shockingly different from the corporate buildings of Chicago, their uniformity thrown into sharp relief as she looks at the house in the distance. 

"So this is an Airbnb?" Andy asks.

"Yeah," Nile says, her eyes on the trapezoidal window in the attic of the house. 

She can't tell if the small, blue-bordered windows on the second floor of the house look pleasing next to the large glass window to their left. On the first floor, the glass door is flanked by the same bordered windows as the second floor, but with white borders that stand out in sharp relief against the dark curtains. The other side of the house has eight windows in total, three large ones scattered among the smaller ones. As she takes it all in, Nile decides that the mismatched sizes and the different borders are charming. They give the house character, make it interesting. 

"The house is nice," Nile says. 

Andy makes a sound of agreement as she gets out of the car to open the fence. Nile shoves Booker's shoulder and he wakes at once, already sitting up when Andy gets back into the car. They drive right into the front yard and Andy parks the car as close to the fence as she can. 

"Lets go," she says. 

"Nice house," Booker says, as he follows Nile out of the car. "And you can just rent them? People just give them to you?"

"Yeah," Nile says. "That's Airbnb, though we should probably be careful. Some places have cameras."

Booker grins. "Not once I'm done with it."

-

The inside of the house is a mixture of wood-planked and white walls, the decor sparse and either brightly colored or white with strips of wood. The couch in the living room is comfortable and there's a welcome basket in the kitchen with snacks. But most importantly, it's blessedly warm inside.

"We should have brought better jackets," Nile says. 

"In the suitcase," Andy calls, taking the armchair next to the couch.

She sprawls across it, her feet hanging over the edge, hands behind her head. 

"You brought coats?" Nile asks. 

"I told you I'd take care of it," Andy says. 

"You said you'd bring toys," Booker says from where standing by the kitchen doorway, staring at the blue and yellow dresser. 

"I'll take care of it," Andy says again. 

"A drop off?" Booker asks. 

Andy waves a hand in the air and Nile takes it to mean that she has it covered. They pass the time exploring the rest of the house, the four bedrooms and five bathrooms. Everything is so white, from the walls to the lightbulbs overhead, everything seeming emptier than it is. The bathrooms are the only places with different colored walls, soft blues among the darker sinks. It feels warmer in there, fuller, and it's a good thing they don't mean to stay long. Nile doesn't know how long she'd be able to take the sheer absence of anything even remotely resembling a home. 

She's heading down the last few steps when she hears the front door open, the gust of wind making her shiver. When she gets downstairs, Nicky and Joe are already in the living room, Joe on one of the two folding chairs and Nicky on the couch on the opposite side of the room. She doesn't need Booker's wide-eyed expression to let her know that something's wrong, but she knows better than to make an unnecessary comment.

"You look cold," she says instead, looking at Joe's red cheeks. 

"We only have one jacket," Joe says. 

"Where's Andy?" Nicky asks. 

Joe throws an unreadable look his way, something quick and sharp before he goes back to smiling at Nile. 

"I'm here," Andy calls from upstairs.

They say nothing as she makes her way into the room. She's mid-smile when she notices Joe and Nicky, the obvious space between them. She glances at Booker, and Nile can tell the moment the situation sinks in because Andy closes her eyes and exhales hard through her nose. 

"Fucking hell," she says. "You two couldn't have picked a worse time to get into a fight."

Nicky and Joe say nothing. 

Nile knows there's a story there from the way Booker keeps throwing scared looks Joe's way to the murderous look on Andy's face. She can tell it'll be interesting, but as she looks around the room, her eyes land on a pair of antlers hanging on the wall behind the couch, a coiled rope in between the two. 

"Oh shit," she says. "We left the guy in the trunk."

"Guy?" Joe asks, frowning in confusion.

"What guy?" Nicky asks at the same time.

They glance at each other, their eyes meeting for a charged moment. Nothing happens, except that Nicky looks away and Joe does too, a hurt expression flashing over his face. It's not pain from being wronged, but something almost like longing, and it figures that when Nicky and Joe fight all they do is miss each other. She can tell Nicky feels it too because he's staring extra hard at the blue and yellow dresser, his eyes drawn to the chipped paint at the edges. He can't possibly find the thing interesting, so Nile figures he's distracting himself. 

If Joe didn't look so sad, Nile might laugh at how obvious it is that they both hate fighting with each other. But she can tell from the look on Booker's face that it's best to leave the two of them alone.

"So, this guy in your trunk?" Nicky asks.

"Oh, right," Nile says. "Andy picked him up at the airport." 

-

The gunman is awake when Booker brings him in, his bullet-proof vest half-off from how long he's spent in their trunk. He's startlingly pale, so much so that his lips look like a smear of red lipstick, bright and tacky in the white living room. The bruise on his right cheek looks worse against the absence of color in their surroundings, and Booker spares a thought for the antiseptic quality of the living room. 

He doesn't want to get blood on the nice carpet, and even the hideous yellow and blue dresser doesn't deserve the inevitable violence that's about to happen. They need information and Booker's familiar with the feeling of muscles under his fists, knows where to push to get what he wants. It's a leftover instinct from his time in Napoleon's war. Even the weather, with its endless white, and the mountains rising behind the house, reminds him of the cold Russian landscape. He can feel the ice seeping into his bones, burning like fire and settling into his chest. 

"Let's get this over with," he says, shoving the man onto his knees on the ground. 

He tries not to think of the cold bite of wind seeping into his skin as he died hanging on a tree, a traitor in the end. His entire life, he's been nothing but a stain on his family, on himself, and on the people around him. He was born a criminal and he died the same way. It makes sense that he's the one to dirty his hands now, to push until he's taken everything from the man before him. It's what he deserves for everything he's done. 

"Hang on," Nile says. "What are you going to do?"

Booker doesn't look at her because he knows he'll lose his nerve at the kindness in Nile's eyes. She's so young, wanting what's best for all of them, truly, genuinely. It's why she accepted her fate so easily, why she didn't protest when Booker told her cutting off contact with her family was for the best. She wasn't selfish like him, didn't insert herself into her mother and brother's life the way Booker did to his children. She never took more than what was permitted, never held on when it was time to let go. Booker couldn't live without them, stayed until they hated him because to leave would have meant his end. 

He's pathetic, already losing himself and he hasn't even started yet. It's the weather, that endless white that extends for miles. They're at the very edge of the town. Their rented house is the last one before the valley disappears into the Silvretta Alps. A person could get lost in all the snow, in all the memories of hundreds of cold nights, and the scars that linger. 

"Book?"

It takes Andy calling him two more times for Booker to drag himself out of old memories. He looks up to see the rest of them watching him. He's shaking, but the hand he has on the man before him is steady. 

"What?" he asks.

"You don't have to do this," Nile says.

They're all watching him with varying expressions of concern. Joe's face is the most expressive, something sad lingering underneath the worry in his eyes. He shakes his head, a minute acknowledgement to the front door behind Booker. He opens his mouth to deny that he needs space, to pretend that the room hasn't shrunk around him, closing in and trapping him. He's always been the one to do this before and if he can't do it now, then what right does he have to be with them again. He needs to do this, to prove to himself that he's earned the way Joe hands him a cup of coffee every morning. He needs to deserve the way they all turn protective eyes on him, how Nile places a hand on his arm and tugs him gently away.

"Let's go for a walk," she says. 

Nicky takes over without a word, his hands settling on the kneeling man, putting himself between him and Booker. Nile's hands are insistent, and Booker gives in, letting her start to pull him away. He sees Joe and Nicky exchange a look before Joe crosses the room, his hand touching the back of Nicky's neck as he goes. 

"We need to run errands," Joe says to the rest of the room. "We'll be back."

He doesn't wait for anyone to answer, just puts his hand on Booker's free shoulder and pushes him toward the door. Booker goes, eyes on how the snow crunches under his boots, the air stinging his ears. He should have brought a hat, Booker thinks absentmindedly, following Joe, Nile at his side. 

He doesn't ask where they're going until Joe's started the car and the windows fog up, blocking Booker's view of the house in the distance. He focuses on the feel of the leather seat at his back and the rumbling of the engine. They've been driving a good twenty minutes when he finally asks where they're going, but Joe just says, "To make a withdrawal."

The withdrawal turns out to be a trip to the hilly city of St. Gallen. It takes them a good hour and half to get there and when they do, the streets are empty, the lights along the main road twinkling in welcome. Joe heads for the cathedral in the main square, the silence of the night doing more to soothe Booker's nerves than talking would. He lets the darkness envelop him as Joe gets out of the car. He knows what the errand is now, familiar with all the hiding places they have. 

Their stash will be underneath the cathedral's foundations, accessible through a hidden door in the back of the church. Because it's night, there's little chance of Joe meeting someone, so even though Joe might need a hand carrying everything back, Booker doesn't go with him. He can't bring himself to go into the church. 

He doesn't believe in a just God because, after everything, here Booker stands, whole and alive while his children rot beneath the earth. If there was justice in this world, he would have died a hundred times over by now. 

"Stop that," Nile says. "It'll be okay. Andy and Nicky can handle it."

Her nonchalance takes him by surprise and he asks before he can think it through, "You're okay with what we're doing? With what I was going to do?"

Nile looks at him in the yellow hue of the city streetlights, her brown eyes wide as she realizes what she said. She doesn't mean it, but the fact that she thought to comfort him in this way makes him smile. 

"Don't worry," Booker says. "You'll get over it quick."

She opens her mouth to argue but thinks better of it and the two of them sit in the warmth of the car, waiting for Joe to come back. Booker stretches out, his knees hitting the back of the seat in front of him. He doesn't think about what Andy and Nicky are doing, about how there's one thing less for him to do, one more way that he's dispensable. 

He talks to distract himself from the way the night seems to condense in the center of his chest, heavy and tight, making it harder for him to breathe. He likes to think of his children when they were young. He tells Nile about their trips to the neighboring towns before the money became scarce. Before Booker turned to forgery and theft. 

"I was good at it," he says, letting the night carry away the phantom pangs of hunger. "Being a criminal kept food on the table."

"But?" Nile asks. 

"I got caught," he says. "Was given the choice of joining Napoleon's war or going to prison. So I joined the war and watched men die until I couldn't do it anymore. They hung men for deserting, and I didn't die."

"I think about leaving," Nile says.

She looks out the window when she says it, her eyes trying to see past the fog.

"So have I," Booker laughs, and the sound is pathetic to his own ears. "But I can never stay away for long."

He doesn't say that it's harder to sleep when they each get their own rooms, much less when he's in a different country. It's why he sticks near Joe and Nicky when Andy leaves them, always a short ride away so that he can say yes to their dinner invitations. Because he's self-serving, always seeking his own comfort, never thinking of others. 

"I should have left my kids alone," he says, knowing this is a time for secrets.

In the darkness of St. Gallen, he can say what he means and watch it disappear into the night. 

"They hated you because you couldn't save them," Nile says, her tone cautious as she turns to look at Booker. 

Her cheekbones are almost shining as the light filters through the windows of the car. One side of her face is in shadow as she looks at Booker, crammed into his corner. He's not avoiding the light on purpose, but to move where Nile can see him properly feels like flaying himself open. He holds his breath as she looks at him, and he can almost hear what her next words will be, echoes of thoughts that live in his head. They're horrid things that have no room in his memories, ungrateful sentiments that hurt him, until he has to drink to quiet them. 

"You didn't deserve their hatred," she says. "Not for something you couldn't control."

He can't breathe for a moment, all the air in his lungs punched out of him with Nile's words. He agrees with her in some ugly part of his soul, a place so hopelessly tangled, he can never hope to make sense of the emotions that reside there. 

"I…" he starts, the words catching in his throat. 

He can't bring himself to refute what she said, his hands shaking as he tries to count his exhales. It's been so long since he felt the drag of rope against his neck, that tightening of the noose that took his breath away. He feels it like a brand now, the slow suffocation as he thinks of his son's face, twisted in fury as he lay wasting away in his bed. Booker had tried everything to save him, had stolen to pay for the doctors, until Andy found him and gave him everything he needed. But it wasn't enough to keep his son alive, and it wasn't enough to chase away the hatred in his children's eyes. 

He exhales, suddenly tired, and closes his eyes against Nile's unflinching conviction. He doesn't deserve her, or any of them. 

"You don't have to stay in this fight," he says instead, focusing on her to keep his thoughts at bay. "If you want to go, you can go."

Nile's laughter is like the chiming bells of a cathedral, ringing clear and strong against the howling wind outside. "I have nowhere else to go," she says. 

"If the pills work," Booker says, letting the rest of the sentence hang in between them.

If the pills work, he can finally end the spiraling array of thoughts that don't let him rest. He could put a stop to the fragmented memories, to the way he can no longer tell what is real and what he made up to make himself feel better. He can't say that he ever took his sons to Marseille or to the countryside to marvel at the neverending fields of green pasture. But he can recall the sounds of his son's hatred, the bitter words thrown out like an accusation, as he lay dying on his bed. 

If he could take a pill to end it, finally, he wouldn't hesitate. 

"Is it selfish to want out?" Nile asks, more to herself than to Booker. "If I'm alive, if I found all of you, then that means this is where I'm meant to be. But—" she trails off, as though scared of what comes next. 

Booker says it for her, knows deep in his bones that he would make the same choice as her if he could. "But you'd go home in a heartbeat," he says. "If the pills work."

"If the pills work," Nile says. 

-

They get back to La Punt Chamues-ch past midnight, a duffle bag full of weapons in the trunk and better gear for the Swiss weather. In the distance, the mountain range blocks out any moonlight and throws the world around them into complete darkness. When Joe turns off the car, Booker can't see anything but the single light on the first floor of the house. He hears Nile's soft curse before she digs her phone out of her pocket and turns on her flashlight. 

Together, they make their way across the yard, the bag of weapons digging into Booker's shoulder over his new coat. He hadn't even bothered to ask Joe where he found the coats before he zipped himself into one, and he says nothing now as they pass through the front door threshold and into the living room. Andy's there, sitting on the couch with her legs crossed, one hand flipping through the TV channels, the other hanging over the edge of the couch. On the floor next to her, the armed gunman she picked up from the airport lays sideways, his chest rising and falling in sleep.

"It wasn't any fun," Andy says, without taking her eyes off the TV. "He broke the second you left."

"Oh," Booker says, shaking his head at the unvoiced concern in her expression. "We had fun."

He dumps the duffel bag on the floor by Andy's feet, as Joe and Nile come in.

"What did we miss?" Nile asks, her eyes on the fallen man next to Andy.

"Nile guessed Durkheim and you owe me twenty Euro," Andy says, pointing a finger at Booker. "Oh, and we know where to go next."


	7. AQ Pharmaceuticals

_Friday, 6 October, 2021  
0500_

AQ Pharmaceuticals is a three-building compound that sits in a miniature valley between two snow-covered mountains in the Silvretta Alps, about an hour's helicopter ride from La Punt Chamues-ch. The main building is a white four-story rectangular structure, with blackout square windows and a metal front door. The two smaller buildings to the right are concrete structures with silver lamina roofs and wide metallic chimneys that let out puffs of gray smog. From Booker's vantage point, hidden behind a snowbank about fifty meters away, he can see that the two shorter buildings extend further than the main building. Though there's no snowfall at the moment, the icy wind brings with it precipitation from the surrounding forest, fogging up the pair of binoculars Booker's holding.

He turns them to his left, scanning the dense forest that makes up three of the four natural borders to the compound. Aside from the mountains and the trees, to the far right is a steep incline that breaks off into a straight drop about a mile down. According to the guard they'd left back at the Airbnb in La Punt Chamues-ch, the only way to get to the compound itself is by helicopter and only when the weather permits. There are approximately a hundred people working at the complex at any given time, between scientists working in the labs housed in the smaller concrete buildings, cleanup crews, and general labor needed to produce the God Killer. 

Their best bet to get inside is to go in through the southern entrance, past the wire fence surrounding the compound, and across the half-mile-long yard between the entrance and the buildings. Their reluctant informant turned out to be due back at the compound three days from the night they spoke to him. He told them that guards at the compound ran on a two-week rotation that could be extended depending on the weather. The people tailing Nile and the others were part of the compound security team and rotated out every three days. The guard was unsure why, but Andy thought it was to keep anyone from learning too much. If everyone was moved from place to place, it kept people from forming close relationships that could potentially split loyalties. 

It was a solid technique meant to prevent anyone from asking too many questions, or looking at anything too closely. It also had the added benefit of allowing someone like Booker to sneak in without raising too much suspicion. There was a good chance people in the compound didn't know what every worker was supposed to look like, which meant that he might be able to get in and out unnoticed. The only issue they all had was how to get Booker inside without actually having him go through the guards at the front gate. Because, although Booker had an ID for AQ Pharmaceuticals attached to the body armor they'd taken from their friend back in La Punt Chamues-ch, there was no way his face would be registered into AQ's employee database.

Which is why he's currently sitting behind a snowbank, binoculars in hand, looking for weak points along the fence surrounding the compound. He's watched the same guard walk back and forth from the southern gate all the way to the easternmost side of the fence. Nicky is on the northern side of the compound, directly in front of Booker, keeping an eye on the two guards patrolling that side. Andy and Nile should have the western side, and Joe should be to Booker's right on the eastern side. 

He's waiting for the all-clear before he moves. They have to do this cleanly so that Booker has the most time possible to confirm all the details they've managed to get from the guard. If everything goes well, today will be for recon and to find out what they can about Copely's potential involvement. Even though Booker would bet everything he has that this isn't Copley's doing. It's impossible that after everything they've both gone through, Copley would betray them again. Not with the way he'd given Randy up even though they all know he's important to Copely.

It can't be Copley. If there's one thing that Booker has to believe is that people who're given second chances can make good use of them. He has to believe that he's not going to screw up again.

He sighs, his breath fogging up in front of him even through his ski mask. He shifts, the snow crunching under his borrowed boots. They're a bit small on him, but he's the one going in so he'll deal with the discomfort. 

It takes another half hour for Joe's voice to come through the intercom in Booker's ear. They're better equipped than they were when they first got to Zurich. The past three days have given them enough time to hit their various contacts in Switzerland. So when Joe's voice comes through, it's crystal clear even with the howling wind.

"Get ready to run," Joe says. 

He clicks off and Booker takes off at a jog, semi-automatic slung across his back as he goes. He heads for the southeastern corner of the fence, right where he and Joe's field of vision intersect. He's maybe fifteen meters away when he hears the low hum of a projectile whizzing by. It hits the guard that Booker's been keeping an eye on and he goes down, crumbling against the fence. 

Joe's there a minute later, eyes out for danger as Booker cuts through the fence. Together, he and Joe get the guard out of the compound, his body leaving behind drag marks through the snow. But Booker doesn't wait to see what happens next. He trusts the rest of them to handle whatever else has to be done. His job is to slip inside, head down, as he makes his way to the concrete and steel lamina building closest to him. 

He slows down the closer he gets to the simple metal door of the factory. As he goes to open the door, another guard slips out. He sees Booker and stands aside, muttering in German as Booker passes him. He says something about hating the cold, and Booker laughs, says, "you and me both," and then he's inside, the metal door clicking shut behind him.

He turns to a stone hallway that breaks off in two different directions a few feet away. He can hear the faint whirring of machinery and loud rhythmic bangs that speak to a production line. He sets off down the hallway, passing three doors on either side. The first four rooms turn out to be a canteen and three bedrooms, complete with cots and single drawer cabinets. There are two guards in the room across from the canteen but they don't spare a glance his way as he makes his way past them. The last two rooms in the hallway don't have lights and Booker doesn't linger, fully aware of the cameras in the factory. 

He takes a right at the end of the hallway, following another long tunnel lined with bright lights, exposed pipes at waist level. All the walls and the occasional door that lines this hallway seem overexposed as the lights hit the white paint. Everything feels suffocatingly close, surrounded as he is by brightness. He can feel the chill in the air seeping into his fingers and toes, the way it burns as he inhales. 

He thinks of Russia without meaning to, the neverending fields of white snow, how the icy rain stung his cheeks as his commanding officer threw him on the ground. It was just as cold, all of it engulfing him until he was unable to think of anything but the pain running through him as his limbs locked. He knew that he was going to die, felt it in his bones, and the last thought he had before the noose tightened around his neck, was that he was going to die in wet clothes. 

When he woke, it was snowing, soft flurries that clung to his lashes before they melted. He woke up ashamed, his body reacting to the hanging before his brain caught up with the fact that he was still alive. He remembered dying, the way everything settled into a drawn-out hum and he stopped feeling anything but the stab of the wind. It took three days for all of Napoleon's troops to pass him. For those three days, he hung from that tree, pretending to be dead whenever anyone stepped too close.

Then he cut himself down and headed back the way he'd come, his feet splitting open on the rough frozen forest floor. He doesn't remember how long it took him to find shelter, and he doesn't like to think of how many things he stole, how many people he left with nothing in order to get himself back to France. But what he does remember, and what keeps him awake most nights, is knowing that at the moment of his death, he spared no thought for his family. That even though he said everything he did was to keep them safe, when it came down to it, all he could think about was how he didn't want to die cold. 

Booker shakes his head, pushing back the urge to reach for a flask that isn't there. He hasn't stopped walking, and he'd laugh about how professional he can be even in these moments of panic, but at that moment, his earpiece crackles to life.

"Booker?" Nile asks. "You good?"

He blames it on the emptiness surrounding him, on the fact that he's always a little vulnerable after he pulls himself out of old memories. That's the reason why he's thrown back to the night in St. Gallen, how he can hear the pity and sadness in Nile's voice as she told him that he didn't deserve his children's hatred. He exhales, shutting down that train of thought, pushing back the sudden rush of emotions that threaten to consume him.

They have a job to do. 

"All clear," Booker says. "You?"

There's a pointed silence before Andy's voice comes through, sounding amused. "We'll be fine."

With that, he's focused again, the end of the tunnel in view. He comes to a stop before a set of metal doors with a bar across them. To the right is a card slot, a red light glowing above it. He swipes the ID attached to his jacket and the light blinks green, the metal door giving way as Booker pushes it open. 

He comes out onto a six-foot-wide concrete platform, flanked by a solid wall and two metal guardrails. It extends around three-quarters of the perimeter of the building, hanging above the ground floor of the factory. There are guards patrolling sections of the platform, most of them leaning against the guardrails and looking down at the commotion below. From his spot, Booker has a clear view over the factory's floor plan, every bit of it exposed and open. 

The floor is divided into four sections, the two furthest from him containing machinery, pipes that extend toward the ceiling to release smog to the outside. Every few feet, there's large glass tubing with whiskey-colored liquid running through that convinces him he's in a lab. Though he can't actually see the people moving about, he knows that the occasional bang means a new batch of pills formed. As for the liquid, from what they gathered back in La Punt Chamues-ch, it's a concentrated form of the pill meant to be easier to sneak into the US. Though judging from the size of the factory and pauses between the banging machinery, Booker can tell that it's a relatively new production with a low output. He can't imagine anyone sneaking bottles of liquid God Killer into the US with how few deaths there have been. 

The setup is strange, but he imagines that the obsidian pills are easy to track given their distinctive color. Honey-colored liquid can be hidden in a variety of products, though looking around the area, and at the quantity in the glass tubes, it doesn't seem like someone is planning to mass-produce the liquid God Killer. He frowns, thinking back to what they've learned about AQ Pharmaceuticals so far. Aside from being a legit company that produces diabetes medication, it's a relatively new group based in Switzerland. Nothing much has happened with them, but that's why Booker's here, to find out what he can. 

As he continues to observe the lab, there's a shift in the direction of the airflow and all at once, Booker's hit with the overwhelming aroma of dying animals. It's a humid stench that reeks of animal feces and a hint of cleaner, chemical and harsh. He gags, momentarily distracted from the machinery in the distance as he tries to find the source of the smell. He hears it before his eyes register what he's seeing, a low whining drone that goes high at the end. It sounds like muffled agonizing cries that start out strong and go weak but higher pitched at the end. The one thing he knows for sure is that he's listening to death sounds. 

The aroma from before hits him again, something sweet like rotted berries, musty but not disagreeable. Above that lingers the smell of dirt and bodily excretions. He doesn't know how he missed it before, but as he's wondering, there's a scuffle on the ground floor and a sudden suctioning sound. The rhythmic clicks are back, the sounds of compressing and decompressing air coming from a large square air filter in the center of the room. Above it, rising toward the opening in the ceiling is a large metal flue. Slowly, the smell dissipates, the churning filter drowning out the cries from before. 

It takes him a moment to pull himself together, longer still to make his way to the metal guardrail and look directly beneath him. The two sections closest to him are divided into a four by five combination of different-sized rooms separated by curtains. Each room contains either animals or groups of people, huddled in metal cages, the bars just separated enough to allow for an arm to poke through. Booker counts slowly, makes sure his numbers are right before he speaks into his earpiece. 

"There are people in here," he says, his voice oddly distant even to himself. "Ten total, but it's hard to tell with the cages."

"People in cages?" Nicky asks. 

He sounds tinny, as though the connection is at its limit. 

"Ten confirmed," Booker says, eyes out for the guards patrolling the other sides of the platform. 

No one's looking his way. Most of the guards are leaning against the wall, one with his phone out, the others dozing off. 

"Amateurs," he murmurs under his breath. 

He hears the others talking over the line, the machinery in the factory drowning out their softer conversations. Below him, a group of three people in white lab coats moves away from the seventh room, bypassing rooms eight, nine, and ten to get to the outer edge of the floor. Booker watches them laughing as they go, sliding their keycards through a reader on the northernmost side of the room. They slip through the metal doors, and as they go, Booker gets a glimpse of a black and white tiled floor. 

With another wary look around, he pulls out his phone and starts snapping pictures. He makes sure to get the section right underneath him, the five rooms closest to his staircase that have the ten metal cages. He can't call the others in yet though, no matter how much he wants to. Even if they managed to get all the people out, they don't have enough room in their chopper to get them all back to safety without getting caught. He knows they're going to have to neutralize the guards in the factory, which means they're going to have to take the whole compound, and Booker still doesn't know how many guards there are in total. 

He has work to do, so after sending the pictures to Nile's phone, he finally heads down the metal stairs to his left. The steps creak as he goes, his boots sliding against the worn metal. The gun he has strapped to his back feels heavy, too cumbersome to be of use in the reduced space of the ground floor. He moves it to his hands anyway and holds it close to his side as he goes. He was better off above where he could see all the moving pieces, but recon is recon, and Booker's always prided himself in thorough work. 

He ignores the voice at the back of his head that reminds him of Merrick Pharmaceuticals. It's not a feeling of shame that washes over him as he goes. He was ashamed in the beginning, sorry almost immediately, but after the others left him, all he felt was a bitter sense of loneliness. He thought he'd never see Andy again, and knowing that he was going to lose her hit him harder than he expected. As he lay awake all those months, drowning himself in alcohol, he always spared a thought for Andromache, for Nile, for Joe. Even Nicky with his hard-to-read expressions made an appearance at night. But no one haunted him like Andy.

When she found him in France, after his son had died, she took one look at him and said, "We're all we have, and you're just going to have to get used to that sad fact of life."

So he got used to it. 

More than he thought was humanly possible. 

The first time he died, he hadn't thought of his children, but as he lay awake all those six months in England, letting the alcohol kill him over and over, he always thought of Andy. He always wondered what she'd say if he didn't wake up. Not that he ever truly expected to die. He's long since learned that the world isn't made to give people like him what they want. But he did think, all those endless days, that maybe Andy might miss him. That maybe the others would spare a thought for him. 

He inhales, the smell of rotted fruit hitting the back of his throat. It's a brief scent that dissipates quickly as he makes his way to the nearest room. The walls of the rooms are flimsy plastic curtains, rough to touch but easily shoved aside. Only the outer borders of this section and the doorways between each room are made of sheetrock. 

Booker steps inside the first room, the one with the bars so close together, they might as well form a wall. He can't make out the person inside, the lights too bright outside and too dim within the cage. He passes by quickly, throwing looks at the guards above. None of them pay him any mind as he goes through the first five rooms. 

He's at the last one when he finally finds something. Though the cage remains dark, there's a desk in this room, pushed up against the diving wall. A green laptop sits on top, scattered manilla folders framing it. Booker puts his semi-automatic down on the desk and flips through the papers first, reading the demographics of the person in the cage behind him. He's an unnamed man in his early twenties, homeless, found in Madrid. The rest of the notes are about changes in appearance, age, and demeanor, standard observations of a subject, and the more Booker reads, the angrier he gets. Whoever's in the cage is dying, and the papers mark it a success. 

"We have to get these people out of here," he says into his earpiece. 

"Andy's working on transportation," Nile says. "Twenty minutes max."

Booker clicks off and picks up his gun, holding it out in front of him as he pushes aside the curtain separating the first row of rooms from the second. He steps inside to much the same setup, except that in the corner of this room, there are three cages stacked on top of each other. In the bottom cage is a golden retriever, its blond fur interspersed with white. It lays at the bottom of the cage, its ears twitching as Booker walks over. It's an old dog, but otherwise a healthy dog. The cages on top contain a rhesus monkey each, both covered in white fur, lounging on the bottom of their cages. He doesn't need to read the papers on the desk to know that these are also test subjects, that the pills are aging test subjects. 

He goes through ten more rooms, snapping pictures of what he finds, the documents all detailing the same thing in different words. This is a testing facility that produces the pill and liquid forms of the God Killer for the test subjects in rotation. Though the God Killer itself produces euphoria and works as a standard party drug, these particular tests are focused on its aging side effect. As far as Booker can tell, the aging effect is controlled by the dose of God Killer taken. The higher the dosage, the faster the aging effects, though it seems like the liquid form is less effective at aging but produces a better high. 

Booker goes through pages of notes, detailed experimental procedures, and he's so sure that whoever is running these experiments knows about them. Which doesn't necessarily mean that the CEO of AQ knows about them. But it makes it more likely that Copley's involved somehow. There's just too much of Merrick in the setup of the lab, and based just on these experiments, it seems like the God Killer's main purpose is to age people until they die. And Booker can't think of who else these pills might be for, if not for people who don't die. 

He has to make sure though, so he continues to the second-to-last room, expecting to find the same information spread over the papers on the desk and the spreadsheets on the laptops. He's flipping idly when the word "immortal" catches his eye. It's on the fifth page of the thirty-page booklet he's been debating taking with him. In a section titled "naming procedures," it describes the purpose of the pill as a means to protect against "immortals." Booker reads and rereads the same section, his eyes lingering on "protection" before he gets to the name, the black ink almost shining against the white paper, the words "God Killer" like a beacon.

He laughs, a horrible self-deprecating sound that burns through his chest. He doesn't know who the founder of AQ Pharmaceuticals is, but they're wrong to think they need a god killer when Booker's the furthest thing from one. He's what's left when all the good has died, when all that's left is the cowardice and the guilt. He's ripped himself apart, too weak to be someone who wants to live. 

God Killer. 

He crumbles the sheet in his hand, tearing it out of the booklet. But as he turns to make his way back out, a thought occurs to him. The experiments worked, the God Killer given in small doses increases the speed of aging in all the test subjects so far, and with a high enough dose, it kills. It's been declared a partial success but, if Booker is reading correctly, the purpose of the God Killer is to protect against immortals, specifically. So there's no way the pill could be a success unless it was tested on an immortal.

The last thought grounds him to a halt, his fist tightening on the piece of paper in his hand. He goes back for the booklet, flips through the pages until he gets to the middle. There is table after table of dosages and times given, all of them with the same three words: "no effect detected." Further into the booklet, he finally finds the list of demographics he's been looking for. A woman, black hair, brown eyes, Vietnamese. He keeps going, his heart pounding in his chest the more he reads.

They're testing the God Killer on an immortal. 

"Oh shit," he says, feeling his breath catch in his throat as he clicks on his earpiece. "Fuck, move in, move in."

"What happened?" comes Nile's voice.

"Andy," Booker says, "It's—"

His eyes catch on the last of the tables. It lists dosages the same as the other pages, but this time, at the very end of the last row are the words, "Aging Effect Detected." He can feel his heart beating in his throat, the edges of his vision going black. There's a high pitched ringing in his ears and all Booker knows is that he has to get to the pills, has to find a way to take a handful and...and—

He doesn't know what he intends to do. He only knows that he has to go, that to stand in this room with the booklet in his hands is more than he can bear. He can hear, as though from far away, the sound of Andy in his ear, asking him something. But he can't answer, not until he gets to the pills.

"I'm sorry, Andy," he says, knowing too late how it'll sound, what they'll think. 

He scrambles to explain, but just as he manages to inhale, he hears thundering footsteps. He turns toward the sound, gun raised and ready, and that's the last thing he remembers before his world goes black.


	8. Infiltration

_Date and Time Unknown_

Quynh doesn't sleep anymore, not the way she used to when it was just her and Andromache wandering the earth in search of purpose. She used to lie down on the hard dirt, huddled behind large rocks to keep the chill away, a fire burning before her to keep her warm. She had Andromache at her side, the stars twinkling in the night sky. Back then, there were no towering skyscrapers to block out the sounds of the night or the low hum of nocturnal animals that she never found frightening.

The only thing that ever scared her was the thought that one day she'd forget everything, that though her life might extend forever, one day she would forget the sound of Lykon's laughter, the warmth of his side against hers. When she lost him, she knew for the first time what fear was, the way it clawed at her insides as she hung to Andromache. 

She isn't afraid now, not even when she wakes in a haze unsure if the pills have killed her. If she closes her eyes against the bright laboratory lights, she can almost pretend she's still underwater, the cold from the metal examination table seeping into her back the way the icy ocean water pressed into her skin. It's second nature to be numb. She's unable to move, her limbs like lead weights keeping her down, her heart thumping wildly in her chest. Except this time, she can breathe.

Even after so long outside of her iron prison, she hasn't gotten over the novelty of breathing, the way air flows through her lungs. She can feel its every movement, the way it enters through her nose and travels down her trachea and into her lungs. She feels them expand and deflate, every particle of her being suffused with life. 

The pills feel a little like drowning, so it's no surprise when she lashes out, her nails digging into the eyes of the man in white pressing water to her lips. She doesn't drink, but she's weak from days strapped to a table, and there's nothing she can do when they come back with needles. She knows what the pills do. She also knows that the reason there's a liquid form is because she's killed too many of them with her bare hands. 

But she doesn't want to drown. Not anymore. 

Eventually, they tell her what the pills do and she doesn't fight them anymore. She wants it to work, wants to close her eyes and see nothing for the first time in five hundred years. She's tired of the phantom pains in her chest, that desperate reach for air that overwhelms her when she chokes on her water. She's drowning all the time on land, in this lab in the middle of Switzerland. She wants the pills to work so that she won't have to wake up in the middle of the night clawing her way to safety, her body tensed under the invisible weight of the sea. 

She used to love the water, back when it was just her and Andromache wandering the world together. But to think of the past aches in a way that feels like loss. She can't ever have what she had then, and it's futile to try. It's much easier to pretend that she hasn't dreamed of the two new ones, of how Andromache's pulled them to her, how she watches them, how she's ensured there's no room for Quynh at her side anymore. She dreams of Nile, the name etched into thin metal tags, of the laughter in her eyes, and the worry that lingers at the corners of her mouth. Quynh knows a warrior when she sees one, world-weary and desperately trying to hold onto what she knows.

They're all crumbling together. Nile, Andromache, and Booker. 

She dreams of him the most in between hazy mornings and cold evenings. He was the first after she was gone, her replacement, the golden boy with a rake's smile, hanging on a tree and waiting to die. She felt him go and come back over and over until he wriggled loose and was lost to the Russian wilderness. She dreamed him first and he was the only real thing she saw for years in the endless darkness of her forever. Nile came after, those deep brown eyes and the terror as she faded away on the hard dirt floor. 

Quynh saw her come alive, screaming as loud as she could with all her soul, "See me. I am here." 

But none of them came. 

She's had years to come to terms with the anger that lives in her soul, that restless rage that consumes her. She wants to rip them all apart, watch their blood run down her hands as she tears them to pieces. She wants them to feel what she felt, the way every breath was a death sentence, how she learned to hate her very lungs. She drowned and lived and drowned and lived for so long, she's still not sure she's alive. 

So the pills are her salvation. The liquid they inject into her veins are all she has left. She's tired of hating, done with the way it burns her up inside. She wants it to be over, wants more than anything for the amber liquid to kill her. She'd even drink the pills if they promised it would be over. 

-

_Silvretta Alps, Friday, 6 October, 2021  
0900_

"Booker," Nile calls, her eyes on the southern side of the complex.

She's met with staticky silence from his end, nothing but the howling wind at her back and the pulsing beat of her heart. There are people in there, dozens of pictures in Nile's phone detailing the effects of the God Killer. She hasn't had time to flip through it all, her eyes on the guards that patrol the perimeter. Joe's in there, working his way around the complex, taking out the guards one by one. Nicky has eyes on him from the north, Andy on the west, and Nile on the south, all of them waiting for the all-clear. 

Booker's silent on his end, the minutes dragging as Nile listens to Andy on the line, talking to the pilot who brought them. There are ten people in cages needing transportation in one of the smaller concrete buildings. Who knows what they'll find in the other lab, what else there is in the larger building. They should have come better prepared, should have risked calling Copley for backup. But they're here now, just the five of them and one helicopter, and Nile hasn't heard from Booker for over fifteen minutes.

"Come on, Joe," she says under her breath. 

He rounds the corner exactly twenty minutes after they last heard from Booker, the hood of his jacket pulled back, his curls tucked under a baseball cap. He's unruffled except for the way he's favoring his left side. 

"Joe?" Nicky asks over the comms. 

"I'm all right," Joe says. "Just slipped on the ice."

"Any sign of Booker?" Andy asks. 

"No," Joe says. 

Nile mouths it with him, knows that Booker's abrupt "I'm sorry," means something's gone terribly wrong. She can tell that Andy knows this too, that the only reason they're not bursting in is because they have an unfinished picture of what to expect. They have to be more careful now. Andy doesn't have the luxury of going in blind. 

"I can do it," Nile says. 

She doesn't explain what she means because Andy will know. Andy always knows. She's always there filing in the gaps Nile leaves behind. 

"No," Andy says. 

"I'll be careful," she says.

There's silence over their comms for a moment before Andy sighs. 

"On me," Nile says, taking it for the permission it is. "Then Andy, Joe, and Nicky. Our priority are the people in cages, then—"

She stops as she hears a low rumbling sound, something that resonates within her chest. She reacts before she knows what it is, diving behind a snowbank, her hands over her head. The explosion follows, loud and deafening, the smell of smoke drifting over the mountain. Nile can feel it in the back of her throat, the thick smell of burning chemicals washing over her. She jumps up at once, her eyes taking in the concrete building Booker went into. It's a ball of flame, black smoke spilling from the easternmost side, almost as though the insides are leaking out with the flames. 

"Booker," she gasps.

She can hear Joe's answering yell over the comms, that sharp inhale of breath she's sure is Nicky. She's moving without thinking, the snow beneath her boots slowing her down, each step deliberate so that she doesn't slip. The gun strapped to her back underneath her coat digs into her shoulders as she goes, each push against the wind straining her muscles. They're not going to make it in time. 

She can see people spilling out from the other buildings, some in lab coats, huddling together against the icy wind. There's a rush of uniformed men with semi-automatics, all of them heading for the burning building. Nile keeps going, coming to a stop at the southeastern corner where they pulled the fence open earlier. She kicks it in, the broken metal giving way easily. The jagged edges cut into her coat and drag her back, but Nile's eyes are on the crushed metal door of the building up ahead.

Someone's crawling out of the ruble, a group of more uniformed men, their helmets knocked askew as they stumble away from the flames. She rakes her eyes over all of them but she can't see Booker. And as she starts her mad dash toward the group of armed men, it occurs to her that she's too out in the open. She stops halfway to the gathering group and eases into a stroll.

"Positions?" she asks into the comms.

"I have eyes on Joe," Nicky says. "He's in the front of the group."

Nile eases toward the western side of the complex. "Andy?" she asks.

She gets no response as she turns back to the crowd surrounding the burning building. Even though she and Joe are out in the open, there are enough people up ahead for her to blend in, many of them wearing thick jackets not unlike Nile's. They're everywhere, even though the other buildings haven't caught fire and the damage seems localized to only the one building. It feels off, almost as though someone is trying to hide among all the people. It doesn't feel safe.

"Joe," she says. "Fall back. Meet us on the western side of the complex. We have to find Andy."

There's a burst of static before Joe's voice comes through the comms. "On it, boss," he says, voice pitched low. 

"Keep eyes on him, Nicky," Nile says. "Then come find us."

She clicks off and heads to the left. There are too many guards gathered at the burning building, not enough along the perimeters. She doesn't run into anyone as she goes, the gun at her back reminding her that things are going to get ugly. 

She needs to find Andy. 

At that thought, she picks up speed, her boots hitting the solid concrete of the complex. At least there's that to be grateful for, no snow here to stop her as she goes, no need to be careful. She comes to stop when she hits the fence on the western side, a few yards from the administration building. There are people trickling out slowly, a guard at the door barking orders as he waves them toward the burning building. 

It doesn't add up. Everyone should be evacuating, not running toward the danger. The more Nile watches the people leaving the building, the more unsettled she feels. She's considering heading toward the mayhem to get eyes on what's happening, but whoever's running AQ knows who she is. She wouldn't be safer than Joe, and if she was captured, well, it doesn't help to think about it. 

She keeps eyes on the administrative building, looking for anyone who seems familiar. They'll have to be connected to Merrick, or connected to one of them in some way. She thinks of Dizzy for one wild moment, the disgust on her face when Nile woke up alive and well. How easy it must have been to give Randy everything she knew about Nile, to pass along things about Nile's family. She wonders how many people Dizzy talked to, how much satisfaction she got from knowing that her suspicions about Nile weren't unfounded. 

She shakes off the thoughts, not wanting to go down the same circular paths she's traveled these past few months. She's a jumble of senseless thoughts on bad days, and perhaps she hasn't worked through the feelings of betrayal Dizzy still inspires. But they have a job to do, and no matter how angry Nile might be that Dizzy's put her and everyone she cares about in danger, she has to keep it together until they find Andy and get to Booker. 

In the end, it doesn't take long to find Andy. Joe and Nicky are just rounding the northern side of the compound when she exits the administrative building. She says something to the guard and as he laughs, Nile sees the way Andy's hands linger on him. She sighs, only slightly annoyed that Andy's already three steps ahead of them, already throwing herself toward danger and not being sensible. 

"Andy?" Joe asks, as he and Nicky walk up to Nile. 

She nods to where Andy's already knocked out the guards at the entrance of the administrative building and is making her way over to them. She walks as though there isn't chaos reigning behind her, each of her steps deliberate. Nicky laughs and Nile shakes her head, but by mutual, unspoken accords, they fall back out of sight, between the fence and the side of the administrative building. There, the building itself provides relief from the biting wind, and they have time to take stock of the weapons on hand as Andy catches up to them.

"They're emptying the other lab," Andy says, when they're close enough to hear. "AQ is still a pharmaceutical company, so aside from the God Killer, they're manufacturing diabetes medications. The company's small but planning to expand, so this compound is shutting down as soon as they open their new hospital. There's a gala two days from now in Höfe to formally announce the new hospital there, all local, nothing big. They're keeping under the radar for the most part"

"And you got all this from what, a walk?" Nile asks. 

"A conversation," she says with a small smile.

"So what's the plan?" Joe asks, huddling closer to Nile. 

He's back to back with Nicky, his eyes on Andy as Nicky keeps watch. 

"We split into two," Andy says. "Joe and Nicky, you two find Booker. Nile and I will handle the admin building."

"Comms on at all times," Nile says and Andy nods at her side. "We meet back here in an hour."

"Hour thirty," Andy corrects. "And eyes open."

Nile and Nicky drag the unconscious guards to the side of the building, Nicky exchanging his clothes for the guard's uniform. Then he and Joe head back the way they came, toward the gathering mass of people by the burning building. Joe waves just before he turns the corner, and as Nile watches him go, she can't help but feel as though they're being toyed with. She feels seen and she doesn't know by who.

"I don't like this," she says.

"Yeah," Andy murmurs darkly. "Neither do I."

Then she turns back to Nile, her eyes almost sly as she says. "Come on, boss. We have work to do."

\- 

The rat-a-tat of gunfire echoes loudly in the hallway, the lights flickering as the bullets ricochet off the ceiling. Nile clears the first floor easily, her gun up as she hunches down to take the brunt of the kickback against her shoulder. Andy watches her go, the way she slides along the floor, the easy back and forth of her feet, her focus. There are only five men on the first floor and Nile takes out four by herself, each one marked by two pops of her gun. She's efficient, wasting neither bullets nor time as Andy hangs back and takes care of the single guard by the front desk. 

She's not testing Nile. At least, she doesn't think she is anymore. They're many missions in and there have been too many times where Andy's relied on Nile to keep her safe. Ever since Merrick, they've become part of the same group, their movements tied together. Andy likes her, trusts her, wants to make this transition easy for her. But she can feel the loss like an ache in her heart when she watches Nile take charge, that overwhelming wave of emotion that knocks Andy's breath from her lungs.

She's being replaced. Not ill-intentioned, but true nonetheless. Nile can do everything Andy can, and the others like her too, respond to that unwavering presence that Nile has, a product of her upbringing. She's an older sister and Andy was the youngest in her days. They have different learning curves. And even though Nile worries that her life will get swallowed up by the missions, by everyone needing her, she's already acting like a leader, already giving instructions and having them followed. 

Andy heard Joe's, "on it, boss." She saw the way Nile ran in after Booker, how her first instinct was to keep the rest of them safe. Andy slipped away, didn't loop them in, didn't think twice about where her attention should be. Booker is fine. He has to be. Which means that it was more important to find out how much power AQ Pharmaceuticals held than it was to go after Booker. But Nile didn't care. Her first move was to go save him, to pull Joe out when she sensed danger. She puts people first, and Andy, for all that her losses weigh heavy on her, sometimes forgets she should. 

"Everything all right, Andy?" Nile asks now.

Andy looks up at the unconscious guards, most of them with a shoulder injury and all of them alive.

"You worry too much about other people," Andy says, stepping over the guard at her feet. 

Nile stares back at her blankly. "We should take the stairs," she says. 

Andy nods and they head down the hallway together, bypassing the elevators in favor of the stairwell entrance. Andy steps forward, her body against the wall as she pushes the metal bar and shoves the door open. Nile heads in, gun out in front of her, even as she hunches in to make the smallest target possible. Her, "clear," is soft but Andy catches it as she follows. 

She's holding a handgun, not used to the heft of the heavier guns. She prefers her axe, but it sits at home on their living room couch, probably housing the same mercenaries who were after them at the airport. She didn't bring it because it would have never made it through the airport, and she assumed they'd be back before long. Now, with the flimsy handgun in her hands, she wishes for the weight of her axe. Instead, she falls in line behind Nile, following her up the first two flights. They don't run into anyone else until they hit the third floor, but the group of three men don't seem to be expecting them. 

Nile takes out two with four successive pops, efficient and deadly. Andy manages with the third, one quick shot to the head so that the man falls over the stair railing, his body slumping down to the flight beneath them. They keep going, Nile falling back at the end so that Andy can go first, the fourth-floor door coming into view as they climb the last few steps. 

They stop so that Nile can reload and Andy takes the opportunity to study her profile, the calm almost serene expression on her face. It's not that Nile isn't worried. It's that the marines have trained all expression out of her, tried to fine-tune her into the best killer in the world. But she's still Nile underneath it all, the person who shoots to incapacitate instead of to kill. She's exactly what they need, someone to remind them of their humanity, all the bits they've lost to time and circumstance.

"You know," Andy says, wanting her to understand. "There's nothing wrong with other people needing you, as long as you remember that it's okay to need them too."

Andy's caught her off guard. She can tell from the way Nile exhales shakily, the slight rearrangement of her hold on her gun. She breathes through it, nods once, and says, "Let's go."

-

There's smoke everywhere, making it hard to breathe. Nicky coughs twice and sees Joe falter in his step as he turns back. But Nicky waves him forward, through the hallway and into what's left of the small concrete building. Up front where the hallway splits into two, they can see the lick of flames coming from the right. Everything past this short hallway is engulfed in flames so there's really only the four doors between the entrance and the end of the hallway to check. If Booker's not there, they're going to have to put out the fire before they go looking for him in the other parts of the lab, and Nicky can't help the sudden unease that washes over him. 

The chances that Booker made it this far out are low and Nicky doesn't know what the fire code policies are for a drug manufacturing plant hidden deep in the Silvretta Alps. He's sure none of the people lined up outside are going to call the fire department. Last he saw, they were going through the building next door, hauling out unlabeled boxes, and placing them as far from the buildings as possible. 

"Joe?" Nicky asks, speaking into the comms so that he doesn't have to yell, doesn't have to inhale the sharp scent of burning chemicals. "What do you know about concrete buildings and fire?"

He hears the banging of metal doors and then Joe's voice. "Well, I can tell you that there's no smoke in the rooms on my side, so I think, even with the explosion, the fire shouldn't hit any of the other buildings."

"Exactly," Nicky says, feeling relieved that he and Joe are still on the same page. "So why are they clearing out the building next door?"

He hears the crackle of static over the line, but there's no answer from Joe. It's not unheard of, especially if he's run into someone. But there's so much smoke in the building and a deep sense of danger that permeates the area. Something about the way the smoke darkens the already drab concrete lab doesn't sit right. Nor do the people emptying out the building next door.

"Joe?" he calls again.

There's still no answer. 

It occurs to him for a moment that Joe might still be hurt over their conversation on their way to Zurich. Nicky's never had cause to worry about their relationship, has never felt like there was truly any danger of irreparably damaging what they have. But he doesn't like it when he and Joe aren't in agreement, especially when he can tell that it's a simple misunderstanding that one quick conversation could clear up. The fact is, Nicky doesn't know what he'd do without Joe because he can't conceive of a life where Joe is gone and Nicky isn't. He has no plans about what happens after because there can't be an after. The world can't possibly be so cruel as to allow Nicky a life when Joe doesn't get one. 

Still, it's not the time to let old hurts resurface, not when Booker's missing and people are emptying a fire-resistant building next door, almost as if—

When the second explosion comes it isn't loud, but it shakes the ground underneath Nicky's feet, sending him sprawling against the metal door along the hallway. He hits his shoulder against the side of the wall, the concrete edge dragging along his skin and leaving it stinging underneath. Low on the ground, it's easier to breathe, but his heart beats double time in his chest and he can't seem to get enough air to call out for Joe. He stays down a moment as the foundations of the building settle, crumbling concrete falling in chunks around him. 

When the last of the rumbling stops and the dust clears, he sees that a beam has fallen up ahead, blocking the place where the hallway veers off deeper into the lab. Behind him, there's scattered glass from the front door, cold wind blowing in and swirling the dust and smoke. Nicky inhales deeply, the clean air rasping against his nose and throat even as what's left of the smoke clears out. He can't tell if the flames have stopped or if there's just too much rubble now to allow the fire to reach him. In any case, he doesn't allow himself to linger as he heads toward the end of the hallway, away from the front door and toward where he saw Joe slip through.

"Joe?" he calls into the comms. "Where are you?"

He gets no answer, just the same hum of static, and it's the silence more than anything that settles like a band around Nicky's chest. After what just happened, Joe wouldn't stay silent. Not when they're looking for Booker. Not when Andy and Nile are on their own. 

"Joe?" Nicky asks again, as he comes to the door at the end of the hall.

There's a chunk missing from the beam covering the end of the hallway, the heavy concrete slab sliding diagonally along the door so that there's a crawl space underneath and a triangular cut of the door visible above. He's not getting to the doorknob, so even though Nicky knows the door opens inward, he can't get inside without Joe.

"Joe?" he calls again, doing his best to keep his voice level. 

He can't panic now. He doesn't know exactly where Joe is, but he knows the explosion came from Joe's side of the building, knows too that for it to have knocked down more of the lab, it had to have been close. He inhales, lets the rush of adrenaline propel him forward. He's not going to get to Joe from this side so he heads back toward the front entrance, shoving the door aside as he goes, the cold air almost knocking him backward after so long in the heat of the burning lab. 

Outside, alarms blare to life along the gate, loud high-pitched beeping that pierces through the roar of the flames. People rush by, some of them pulling others along as they try to get away from the burning lab next door. There's no way to tell who's who in the madness, too many bodies shoving past, too much debris from the broken boxes. Nicky turns against the crowd, pushing his way toward the second lab, slipping on scattered obsidian pills. He can just make out the second lab's caved-in side as he goes, the burst of flames crawling out from its center that suggests a caved-in roof. 

He taps his comms again and gets the same static. 

As he's pushing his way to the alley between the two labs, he catches sight of a guard yelling instructions to a huddling group of people in lab coats. 

"Hey," the man calls when he spots Nicky's uniform. "Comms are down. Get to the front gates and have them start lockdown."

Nicky ignores him as he races down between the two labs, ignoring the yell from the guard. He gets as close as he can to the flames, until the smoke finally hits the back of his throat and makes him cough. He tries to breathe past the scrape of ashes in his nose and can't, knows he's going to have to turn back soon. But he can just make out the crumbling wall of the first lab, that open hole in the wall like a gaping wound. He has to get to Joe. 

"Get away."

It's the same guard from before. He's followed Nicky down the alley, is reaching for him, trying to pull him back. Nicky reacts instinctively, raising his elbow and catching the guard in the nose. He hears an angry curse but the guard's grip loosens enough that Nicky can jerk his arm away. He turns back to the alley, his breaths coming out in pants as he rakes his eyes down the side of the building. The flames are too high, the heat too strong for him to make it through unharmed. But there's no choice, not ever, when it comes to Joe. 

He yanks the gloves off first, then his helmet, throws the gun down. He doesn't need his clothes melting on him, and the gunpowder in the gun would be a hindrance here. He can feel the cold like a sting across his face as he yanks off the hat on his head, and he can't tell which hurts more, the fading ache of smoke in his lungs or the pull of his skin as the wind hits it. His fingers are numb as he struggles to unbuckle the bullet-proof vest. The comm piece in his ear catches as Nicky sheds his outer layers and he yanks it off. It's useless anyway.

He's concentrating on the bite of the wind to push back the panic. He remembers what it feels like to burn alive, and he still hasn't found Joe or Booker. He breathes, too caught up in what he has to do next that it takes him a moment to place the voice calling his name. 

"Nicolò," he hears, and he'd never confuse that inflection, the exasperation tinged with worry.

"Joe," he says, turning on the spot, eyes wide as he catches sight of Joe at the front of the alley.

He's limping, one arm wrapped around his ribs, his jacket singed at the shoulders. But he's alive, rolling his eyes as he sees Nicky's outer layers strewn over the floor.

"It get a little too hot for you?" he asks, raising an eyebrow, that sly smile on his face that Nicky loves.

"They weren't really my style," Nicky says, already moving.

Joe meets him halfway and Nicky grabs the back of his neck, his fingers tangling into his curls, as he presses their mouths together. 

"Where were you?" Nicky asks, when he finally pulls away.

Joe's hand around his back tightens, pulling him closer a moment. "I'm right here," he says.

Then, as if he's remembered where they are, he pulls away, tapping on his comm, before yanking it out of his ear. 

"We have to go. We have to find Andy and Nile. I heard some guards talking," he says, grabbing Nicky's hand and heading back into the rushing crowd. "They have Booker." 

-

The last of the gunshots fades into the low whirring of the printer as it churns out sheet after sheet of fancy script on brightly colored paper. There are four guards by Andy's feet and a group of four scientists lying on the floor with their hands behind their heads, Nile's semi-automatic pointed at them. Andy's handgun is out of bullets, but she holds it steady as she aims it at the man in front of her. 

He's standing by the printer, his perfectly pressed suit immaculate, his shoes shining under the fluorescent lights. He's generic-looking, limp blond hair and blue eyes, the same straight nose that's on all Hollywood actors' faces, clearly the product of a good doctor. He has a strong jaw but is neither particularly handsome nor exceptionally ugly. He's perfectly acceptable, the kind of guy who went to college and joined a frat and went into business with his father. He's Merrick but richer, carrying the inherited arrogance of the truly rich. 

"Who are you?" Andy asks. 

The man flicks off imaginary dust at his shoulder with his manicured nails. He takes his time looking at Andy, preferring to reach out for one of the brightly colored papers from the printer's output tray than to answer. He takes the paper between two fingers, as though afraid it will dirty him, and then holds it out toward Andy. 

Andy raises her eyebrow at Nile who shakes her head and shrugs. 

Andy takes the paper. 

It's an invitation, the looping script announcing the opening of a hospital in Höfe, all of it centered and neat. She reads it once, taking in the time and date. It's in two days, a black-tie affair, at eight o'clock in the evening. 

"What's this?" she asks. 

The man blinks. "It's an invitation," he says. "My boss is very interested in meeting you."

"Boss?" Nile asks.

The man nods, and Andy knows better than to do this shit again. She can tell from the look of disbelief on Nile's face that she's also thinking of Merrick, of how they'd all be insane to willingly walk into another unhinged millionaire's presence. 

"Tell your boss he can go fuck himself," Andy says, smiling pleasantly.

"She," the man says.

"She can go fuck herself," Andy corrects, tossing the invitation onto the floor. 

She watches its slow descent, the way it sinks into the messy tiles, the blood splatters. She inhales, turning away quickly, not letting herself focus for long on the dead bodies around the room. This is what they do. They stop bad people so that innocent people can live. She's done this for millennia and she can't quite understand why it might bother her now. It's not like she believes in an afterlife or any gods waiting to punish her for her long list of sins. But still, the discomfort lingers. She doesn't want to go with more blood on her hands than necessary. 

"Andy," Nile says, her voice soft and soothing. 

She's always been a balm to the bleeding edges Andy carries, someone who wakes every morning, young and carefree. Nile's biggest problem is not losing herself in the conglomerate of five immortal lives. She wakes and worries over inconsequential things, worries about the world and her place in it. 

God, how Andy wishes she was that young again. 

"Let's go," Andy says, tossing the handgun to the floor. 

They turn to leave, the whirring of the printer slowing down as the last of the sheets falls into the tray. Nile walks with her back to Andy, her eyes on the rest of the room, and Andy doesn't even bother being careful as she steps around the mess of files on the floor. She trusts Nile to handle whatever may come up. 

"You should reconsider the invitation," the man says, as Andy reaches for the doorknob. 

"No thanks," Nile says, moving so that her back is flush to Andy's. "We're good."

The man sighs, a quiet huff of breath as he kicks away the pile of fallen office supplies at his feet. "If that's what you really want, then I suppose there's no use for the other one."

"What other one?" Nile asks. 

Her voice is steady but Andy catches the undercurrent of instinctive panic. Andy can feel dread settling in her chest as she reaches for her comm. It burst to life, static filtering over their shared channel. She doesn't need it to confirm what's happening. She could almost say the words with the man, word for word as he opens his mouth.

"The Frenchman," he says. "The one who was in our lab."

Andy turns, brushing her arm against Nile as they face the man in the suit. He looks bored, his eyes on a spot over Nile's head. 

"Where is he?" Andy asks, slowly. 

The man looks at her, turning to the tray of invitations. He picks one up and holds it out to Andy. 

"If you really want to know," he says. "Come find out."


	9. Truths Unraveled

_Friday, 6 October, 2021  
1930_

"We can't go," Andy says, unconvincingly, for the third time that night.

"They have Booker," Nile says, as she's been saying all night. 

Joe sighs and leans back into the couch cushions, his eyes on the white textured ceiling, the single lightbulb covered by a mushroom-shaped bowl. They're in Zurich, a little more than two days from the start of the gala. Joe's ribs are fully healed and even the burns on his side are nothing but a memory now. They've been discussing the gala for most of their journey back to Zurich, on the helicopter ride and the train. 

They've finally heard from Copley, his voice distorted over a scrambled line. He'd stayed long enough to tell them that he was being followed and that he'd lost Randy in the rush to get out of the safehouse in Malta. He sent over the rest of his files, one new case concerning a young oil heiress who went to a party right there in Zurich and died on the host's living room floor. The details are still fuzzy, but one of Copley's contacts had gotten to the house in time to clear out the nosier police force. As far as they could tell, the death was underwraps because Copley, even on the run, still had strings he could pull. 

Now the files are open on Booker's laptop as they rest at another neat rented apartment with furniture out of a catalogue. Everything is in shades of blue, gray, and white, from the deep blue couch Joe's resting on to the countertops in the kitchen and the pillow cases on the beds. The rest of the apartment is off-white, soothing light beige colors bordered with gray. It's a much more aesthetically pleasing apartment than the house in La Punt Chamues-ch, though the outside of the building is a demure rectangle instead of the kaleidoscope of shapes that made up the house. There are also more people to avoid in the building, tired and curious university students who look like they want to talk, and the odd old lady or two who offered them cookies on their way in. 

Still, the atmosphere is better in the apartment, the noise of a city alive filtering in from the windows. The wind blows in over from the balcony, cold enough that Joe and Nile have an excuse to borrow closer to Andy in between them. They're no worse for wear from what happened at the compound in the Silvretta Alps, but they're being toyed with and none of them take kindly to that. 

The compound remains in the mountains. Its labs were still burning when they all got back into the helicopter. After they agreed to go to the gala in exchange for Booker, there was nothing left to do. The armed guards that were left were instructed not to touch them and no one tailed them on the way back to Zurich. So Joe is inclined to believe that whoever is in charge of the God Killer production is a woman of her word. 

That it's a woman sits in Joe's head, going round and round as he examines the files on Booker's computer. He can't help but feel the stirrings of recognition in the style of attack, that lure in one direction only to attack from a completely different place. They've been chasing the God Killer and the production, while in Zurich someone plans a gala. While in Zurich someone hands out more God Killer to rich heiresses and watches them die. 

He can't but feel that it's personal, how as they get close to tying off one end, another appears to mock them, as if to tell them that they're always going to be one step behind. It's almost as if the person doing all of this knows them more intimately than the files Merrick had on them could provide. More than Copley knows them.

It's a woman. 

Joe stands, bringing the laptop with him as he starts pacing on the other side of the coffee table. He looks at the laptop every other lap, scans the details, the same MO as before: a young beautiful heiress at a party, found dead of old age in the home. All of it consistent except for the one man in the very beginning. 

"What if this is personal?" Joe asks. "The deaths are all young brunettes with money. And if they know who we are, then the only brunette with money we know is—"

He breaks off as he realizes what he's saying, turning his head toward Andy. She's lounging on the couch, her head thrown back and her eyes closed. She doesn't even move as Nile and Nicky both turn to look at her. 

"I'm not young," Andy says.

"You said they found us in Munich because you reused an alias," Nile says, slowly, her gaze unwavering as she raises an eyebrow in Andy's direction. "If this is about you, then that means you know the person running AQ Pharmaceuticals."

"I know a lot of people," Andy says, still not opening her eyes. 

Joe puts down the laptop and Nicky picks it up at once, taking it over to Nile. Joe watches her skim through the files. The occasional clack of keyboard keys is the only sound in the room, and as they wait, Joe can't help but look at Nicky. He's leaning over the back of the couch to see what Nile's doing on the laptop. His bangs fall over his eyes as he reads over Nile's shoulders, the sides falling down past his ear. He hasn't had a haircut in about six months, and definitely not since the mission in Brazil. 

Almost as if he knows that Joe's watching him, Nicky looks up slowly, giving Joe enough time to look away. But it's a cold night in Zurich, Booker is missing, and the fact that there's another dead girl feels entirely like their fault. He's still staring when Nicky meets his gaze, wondering how it's possible that they've managed to push off their conversation for so long. It's not that Joe worries that he and Nicky won't be able to clear things up. It's that impossible though it may seem, there might come a day when they'll have to make the decision to live without each other. Andy is more than proof that nothing that lives, lives forever. And no matter how hard it may seem, they need to be on the same page. Joe can't live knowing that Nicky's unprepared. They won't survive losing each other that way. 

"We should talk," Joe says.

Nicky holds his gaze for a moment longer and then nods. But before Joe can excuse himself, Nile stands, the laptop in her hands as she starts pacing. 

"What is it?" Nicky asks.

"Did you read this?" she asks, not waiting for an answer as she continues scrolling. "There's another girl, a cousin to a Spanish Marchioness, who's been posting about attending a gala in Höfe. She's talking about her date and party favors, and quote, 'a friend is bringing the good stuff, good enough to kill gods.'"

Andy finally sits up with the easy grace of a large cat. "She's talking about drugs at a hospital opening? In public?"

"On Twitter," Nile says, not even looking up from the laptop. "She's talking about the same gala, expected attendance is a hundred. The address is on her Twitter profile."

Andy shakes her head, rubbing at her temples. "And she just put all that information out for everyone to see?"

Nile finally looks up from the laptop, sees the look of disbelief on Andy's face, and shrugs. "She's rich," she says. "She probably has security, and it's not like people don't know where famous people live. It's why celebrities invest in locks."

Andy makes a low noise in the back of her throat and Joe can't help his laughter. "It's all right, boss," he says. "Not everyone can be as cautious as us."

"This is why they keep getting murdered, Joe," she says. "Because they can't keep to themselves."

"It's a good thing, then, that they have us to take care of them," Nicky says, coming around the end of the couch and taking a seat next to Andy. 

Andy sighs. "We have to get ahead of this," she says. "I'm tired of not knowing what's going on. We have to be prepared going in. We need to be. For Booker."

"So what?" Nile asks. "We stalk a Marchioness' cousin? Find out who's bringing the drugs? Then what?"

"Then we talk," Andy says.

"Talk?" Nicky asks, raising an eyebrow.

Andy's smile is slow as she stands. "I just want to talk, that's all," she says. "Cross my heart."

-

_Saturday, 7 October, 2021  
0010_

Lorena Maria de Pinto y Borbon is a second cousin of the Marchioness of Almazan, a single daughter of the deceased Marchioness' first cousin. Her family came from an untitled branch of nobility, but with inherited wealth that ensured that, despite Lorena Maria's education, should she want, she would never have to work a day in her life. She's an heiress, in her late twenties, with long dark brown hair and brown eyes that shine under the chandelier of the rented Manor house in Zurich. She is also predisposed to hosting parties. Her trip to Switzerland is only the beginning of a week-long celebration leading up to her thirtieth birthday party. Which means that when they go see her that night, there's already a party in full swing, music blaring from inside the house, spilling onto the spotless snow-covered yard.

"Now what?" Nile asks, looking down at her jeans and dark t-shirt. 

Which is how they end up paying off two servers and some extremely confused passersby. But it works, Joe and Andy blending in with the other serving staff, while Nicky and Nile join the other guests. 

From Nile's spot at the side of the ballroom, along the brightly decorated walls, she can see Lady Lorena, her hair swept up into an elegant bun on the top of her head, her diamond earrings catching the light. She's wearing a dark blue dress that reaches her knees, with a collar that rests just underneath her throat. Latched close to her neck, she wears a string of bright diamonds that match with her earrings and a small bracelet that seems almost conservative compared to the other pieces on her. It's gold with a hanging pendant in the shape of what appears to be a star or a flower. Nile keeps looking at it as Lorena moves around the room, something about the design seeming familiar.

On the other side of the room, she can see Andy in the same black and white ensemble as the other servers, a tray of champagne glasses in her hand. She looks imposing, an air of barely suppressed violence surrounding her even as she stands and does nothing. Nile shakes her head, doing her best to blend into the general mass of bodies. She's been ignored most of the night, even though jewels hang at her neck and her dress cost a small fortune. 

They're testing the limits of AQ Pharmaceuticals, the promise that they'll be left alone until the gala. Nile doesn't trust it, but they've managed to talk to Copely, which means that whoever was chasing him eased enough to allow him to call them. They're at this party, watching the Marchioness' cousin and no one has tried to shoot at them yet. It's a rather enjoyable evening all things considered, except that Booker's being kept somewhere, and they're all still pretty much clueless about what's happening in Zurich. Their current plan is an attempt at piecing together whatever clues might lead them to their future gala's host. They're closing in on something, Nile can feel it. She's just unsure what it might be.

She glances at Andy again, at that worry that she tries to hide behind her slightly angry façade. She's hiding something. Nile's not quite sure how she knows, but she can tell from the easy way Andy agreed to the party, how she didn't fight them when Nile said she'd go in first. She's not even melancholy anymore, nothing of that sadness that's suffused her interactions with them since they came back from Brazil and Andy had to rest her broken ribs. She's alert, pulling away intentionally now. 

Nile noticed it for the first time when they were leaving AQ Pharmaceuticals, the way Andy lingered on the logo at the top of the invitation, a viper wrapped around a clover. She asked just once if there was something wrong with the logo, but Andy shrugged it off and they didn't speak about it after. It's small things that bother Nile, starting with the way Andy didn't entertain Joe's theory that they were dealing with someone they knew. How Andy didn't even pretend to think it through, how she dismissed them by saying that too many people knew her. How Nile knows that isn't true. 

She can count on one hand the people who actually know Andy. Which brings her back to the swinging pendant on Lady Lorena's bracelet. She studies the woman, trying to place her face. She doesn't look like any of the women Andy sometimes takes to dinner, though Andy never sees them twice and she's not likely to remember. But even so, the profile is wrong. Lady Lorena has money and means, an education in business administration, and a solid job in her father's business. She doesn't have any known enemies, no ties to any of them, except perhaps through Andy. 

But even so, there's something that doesn't sit quite right, something about Lady Lorena's pendant, how it could almost be a viper wrapped around a clover. 

-

Nicky can feel Joe's eyes on him from across the ballroom even through the crowd of heiresses vying for Joe's attention. He's dressed as a waiter and Nicky's the one in the expensive suit, but it's Joe who commands everyone's eyes. He's beautiful in the low lights, the shining chandelier dimming as the evening grows late. They've been making rounds at Lady Lorena's party for the past two hours and have found nothing. There's only one office on the second floor left but Andy and Nile are dealing with that now, and Nicky has nothing better to do than watch Joe.

The group of rich heiresses moves along eventually, allowing Joe a direct line of sight to Nicky. Their eyes catch over the heads of all the other party guests, and it feels like such a long time since they were in Malta, locked in their room, away from the dangers of mercenaries with semi-automatics. In the late evening, amidst all the superficial greetings of the guests, it suddenly seems important for Nicky to cross the room and take Joe away from all the overly decorated grandness of Lady Lorena's house. They should talk in private where the air isn't quite as stuffy, where Nicky can look Joe in the eyes and know they're on the same page. Besides, Andy and Nile are more than capable of handling a single office upstairs. 

He makes his way across the room without thinking, eyes on Joe as he bypasses the wandering hands of the rich. When he's close enough, he nods to the doors that lead away from the ballroom and back out into the foyer. Joe follows him immediately, handing his tray to the first server that crosses his path. They're not running, but they're making haste as they both get closer to the exit. 

Someone calls for a server but Joe ignores them in favor of crossing the doors into the foyer. The heavy ballroom doors close behind Nicky, and then it's the two of them in the eerie silence of the wide room with its grand staircase in the center. Andy and Nile are somewhere upstairs, but Nicky spares them no thought as he heads outside, the music from the ballroom more audible from the yard. 

"We need to talk, Joe," he says.

"We talk enough already," Joe says, moving closer to Nicky. 

The wind blows as they stand together, Joe's nose brushing against Nicky's, their breath misting in front of them. Nicky can feel the chill seeping through his white shirt and dark trousers, but he stands still, letting Joe's presence warm him.

"We need to stop arguing while we're on missions," Nicky says, resting his forehead against Joe's. "Especially when it's over meaningless, useless things."

Joe pulls back, frowning. "It wasn't a meaningless conversation, Nicolò."

Nicky can sense the edge of danger in the disbelief in Joe's tone. They're heading for the same disagreement, pointless and exhausting. 

"I don't know what I'd do if you left me, Joe," he says, wanting to end the argument before it starts. "I can't fathom a world where I live and you don't. I won't ever be prepared for that because no matter how much we talk, I will never be ready."

Joe sighs, the tension in his shoulders leaving with every breath. He reaches out for Nicky, pulling him closer. 

"I understand," he says. "And you were right, it is a pointless argument."

Nicky reaches up to touch Joe's face, the cold tip of his nose, his ears. "Nothing that matters to you is ever pointless, my love."

Behind them, the faint sounds of music fade into the howling wind. Nicky shivers and Joe moves closer, both of them laughing as they shiver in the freezing night. They're still laughing when they kiss, and as they huddle close together, it occurs to Nicky that he has Joe, unconditionally. That, unlike Booker at the moment, he is never alone. That this makes him the luckiest person in the world. 

-

_Saturday, 7 October, 2021  
0450_

Andy knows something.

Nile can see her from her spot on the couch, the way she paces in the little kitchen of their rented apartment in Zurich. She's the one who found Lady Lorena's personal invitation, signed by Katherine Archer, an alias that led nowhere. What little information there exists about AQ Pharmaceuticals is lost amid the larger pharmaceutical companies donating millions to various organizations. Because AQ is small and relatively new, most of the information they have on it comes from Randy's files through Copely. Which means that there's no ping for a Katherine Smith working in the pharmaceutical market. Which means that Andy shouldn't have recognized the name, unless she knew her. 

"Who is she?" Nile asks, finally. 

She hasn't asked before because it didn't seem appropriate to ask in front of Joe and Nicky, in case Andy felt Nile was accusing her of something. She isn't, but Andy knows more than she's letting on, Booker is missing, and they have a gala to attend the following evening. 

Andy says nothing as she comes to a stop in front of the refrigerator. There are various fridge magnets with different European countries stuck in a haphazard manner. Andy takes England and sticks it sideways on the fridge handle. 

"Joe and Nicky aren't fighting anymore," she says.

Nile looks toward the open balcony door past the living room. Outside, Joe and Nicky stand next to each other, not particularly different than any other day, but the air around them seems calmer. 

"Did you know?" Andy says when Nile doesn't respond. "They've been together from the moment they were reborn into this shitty life. Can you imagine? Being with someone for so long that their every action and mood becomes second nature to yours. To know someone so well that you'd find them by even the most insignificant of clues." 

"It must be nice," Nile says.

"It is," Andy answers, quietly. 

Nile looks at her, really looks at her for the first time in a while. She can see the edges of age in the crow's feet at Andy's eyes, the wrinkle on her forehead that doesn't smooth all the way out. She's older, incredibly so, every bit of her catching up to the stressors of the last year. The sadness that lives in her is apparent in the downturned corners of her mouth, the way her shoulders droop as though she's carrying a heavy weight. Nile knows this sadness, the way it lives in all of Andy's actions, how it lingers on nights when Andy can't sleep, when she touches the necklace at her throat. 

"You should let me go to the gala on my own," Andy says. 

And Nile can almost hear it, the admission underneath Andy's request. 

"No," she says, shaking her head. "We go in together. As a team."

Andy's smile is easy as she regards Nile in the kitchen doorway. "Whatever you say, boss," she says.

-

_Sunday, 8 October, 2021  
1830_

Andy is hiding something.

Joe can see it in the way she adjusts and readjusts her bowtie. But he, Nicky, and Booker know there are things that Andromache has to keep to herself, hurts that run too deep to ever see the light. Joe trusts her. 

At the end of the day, that is what matters. 

-

_Sunday, 8 October, 2021  
2100_

Andy knows who it is, the way she used to know how dangerous the sea was with the turning of the wind. She can feel it in her bones, knows what's to come, the same way that a person falling off a building knows the inevitable conclusion. She doesn't know why she doesn't tell the others, why she won't share with them this last bit of herself. Her days on this earth are finite and one day, the four of them will have to live on without her. Perhaps she doesn't want to taint their memories of her. Perhaps, at the end of the day, Andy is a lot more selfish than she anticipated.

But she underestimates how much they care for her still, how they know they must protect her. They all come with her to the gala, dressed in various shades of reds and dark greens. Joe's handsome in his dark red suit, the deep color settling nicely with that light in his eyes. She looks at him, tries to memorize the shape of his smile, the way it pulls at his eyes. Because she knows him, she knows all the places on his body where he hides his weapons, everything but the scimitar he had to leave in Malta.

Nicky follows close behind, a plain black suit that's a little loose around the shoulders, enough room for a shoulder holster. He walks behind Nile, his eyes darting around the room casually. Nile looks the most at ease of them all, even though Andy knows she's the closest to unraveling everything. She's in a deep green suit, a silver belt around her waist, her braids loose down her back. The light catches on the side of her face, on the silver belt, on the gloss of her shoes. On her, the weapons are harder to find, harder for Andy to pin down her exact style ever after a year. 

She's always been their wild card, the part of them that's most important, that's most wanted and cherished. When Andy goes, she will make a fine replacement. 

She inhales, as the night goes on, letting the crowd's chatter wash over the conversations going on in her comms. She lets them all spread out, goes where Nile asks her to go, and when the lights dim and the event starts, she's not surprised to see the same man from the compound in the Silvretta Alps standing at the front. He talks about the future, about promises made, about how AQ intends to help everyone. 

When he reveals the name of the hospital, only Nicky and Joe make a sound, twin exclamations of disbelief. 

Nile turns to Andy. "House of Andromache?" she asks.

"Andy?" Nicky asks, his voice low and soothing. 

She can see when it registers with Joe, how his eyes go wide as he looks back to the man on the stage, to the screen with the projected building and the name across the front. 

"It's not," Joe starts, turning back to Andy. 

But Andy doesn't need them to say it aloud. "We're going to get Booker back," she says instead. 

Nile's too quiet next to Andy, but what's done is done. She makes to go, knowing it's only a matter of time before someone comes for her. This _is_ personal and she will get Booker back. They just have to trust her.

"You should go," she says. 

"We're not leaving," Nile says. "Not if it's really her."

"Not if it's really who?" comes a voice from behind Andy.

It's exactly how Andy remembers, a slow melodic tone that settles within her. She aches with barely suppressed want, her hands shaking as she convinces herself that it's real, that she's hearing her after so many years. She can see the truth of it in Joe's eyes, in the heartbroken expression on his face. She turns to Nicky, to his carefully blank expression, to Nile and the flash of hurt in her eyes, the quick flicker of betrayal. 

She should say something, Andy thinks, but she's waited so long for this moment. There's no choice really. There probably never was. 

She turns away from the others and toward the sound of Quynh's voice. 

"Hello, my heart," Quynh says, that small smile she's always kept for Andy gracing her mouth. "I've missed you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gine linked me to [this post](https://of-scythia.tumblr.com/post/642344877394477056/itsme-imhere-moonlightandromache) and said, CEO of AQ Pharmaceuticals Quynh, and all I can say is that she's right and she should say it. 100%


	10. A Life Most Cursed

_Saturday, 8 October, 2021  
1800_

Quynh carries death around her like the reek of the soulless sea, that sulphuric scent that lives in her nose and hasn't let her rest for years. She chokes to wakefulness on bad nights, the phantom feel of water in her throat jogging her from sleep. She doesn't dream pretty things anymore. Nothing like the soothing balms she used to wrap around herself in those first few decades. She can't remember how long she thought of Andromache, of her kind brown eyes, and the delicate curve of her mouth. In the darkness, there was no way to gauge the passing years. All she knew was the cold ache of loneliness and the deep despair the darkness inspired.

She was never even afraid, despite not knowing what the depths held. Her coffin became her home, a firm, tangible object in the otherwise empty sea. Her inability to see anything mostly outweighed her fear, and her ceaseless drownings gave her a way to measure her imprisonment. She lost count somewhere in the hundred thousands, the sharp awareness of death giving way to a cloudy melancholy existence. She wasn't angry at first. 

When she finally lost hope that anyone would come save her, she also lost the ability to feel pain. Whatever bruises lingered in her heart were nothing compared to the sudden absence of hope. Like snuffing out a candle, she closed down all the places where she still held dreams of Andromache, long brown hair flowing out behind her as she rode across deserts to find Quynh. She took everything she once loved and pushed it away, and let herself become one with the sea. 

It was the only thing she could do to survive. 

Breathing, after five hundred years at sea, was unimaginable pain. The air like burning herbs, odorous and stinging, filled her lungs. She didn't know how to handle being alive. To have enough air, more than she might ever need, disoriented her and left her weak. In the beginning, she lay in the confines of her iron home and let the world wash over her, eyes closed, as her lungs unfurled. After the air, the light was the hardest part, the world thrown into vibrant colors, shades of gray from the iron cage and murky white on what remained of her clothes. The heat from the sun was like a brand on her already sensitive skin, burning her from the outside as the air destroyed her from within.

And yet, she was ready when the hinges creaked on the iron coffin and she saw the face of another person for the first time in five hundred years. It was a woman with long brown hair pulled away from her face and wide brown eyes. She wore trousers under a white coat that went down past her knees, and when she looked at Quynh, she sprang back with a yell. She dropped the iron rod she'd used to pry Quynh's coffin open when she moved away, and when Quynh stepped out of her prison for the first time in centuries, it was second nature to pick it up. The rod was heavy in her hand, its size belying the heft of the metal. 

She never intended to hurt anyone, but the woman who opened her prison doors had eyes like tree sap and a voice that carried. Every yell from her mouth grated on Quynh's ears, her cries digging in like the screws that had tightened the wooden clamps around Quynh's hands in England. Each word from her mouth was a disorienting screech, overwhelming after so many years alone. The heft of the iron rod in her hands felt too much like an axe, so easy to swing it, anything to make the crying stop, to allow her some peace. 

When she came to, there was blood on her hands and the tattered remains of the workbench that housed other sets of tools, other weapons. There was no clothing other than what was on the woman's body. She had no choice. She didn't even know what year she was in, where in the world her body washed up. She took what she needed, heading for the outside with the iron rod in her hand. She kept telling herself it wasn't an axe, that the way it rested in her hands was unfamiliar, unwanted. 

But the outside world was nothing like she remembered. It roared to life, a large all-encompassing mass that assaulted her from all sides. She could feel the sounds burrowing into her head, their loud incessant rings and honks drowning out everything else. Everywhere she turned there was too much light, too many people rushing by in a mad dash that screamed of danger. She could feel cold biting at her arms while the sun beamed overhead, its light throwing everything into shapeless blobs of red. She dropped the rod, fell to her knees in supplication, wanting everything to end. 

It was monstrous. 

She doesn't know, now, how long it took for her to get reacquainted with the world. Her years lost meaning after the first few times she had to beat away wandering hands and run from overly kind ones. She learned quickly to say less and observe more, and so, she lived in the world. 

Everything would have been fine, except that her dreams changed to waterlogged echoes of the before. She kept seeing the ever-expanding desert, Lykon on his horse, his head thrown back in laughter. For the first time in a long time, her dreams brought her peace, and with peace came clarity. 

She always wanted to find Andromache, to see her face again and hold her in her arms. She wanted more than anything to tell her that she forgave her, that all the years hadn't washed away the want that still burned through Quynh at the thought of her. If she woke thinking of Joe's laughter, Andromache's fondly exasperated eye roll would follow. If she thought of Nicky, tucked away into a corner with a book in his hands, she thought of Andromache slouching in her chair, tossing rocks at the walls to pass the time. They were together for so long, they became extensions of each other and so, Andromache lay at the end of all of Quynh's thoughts.

Merrick was what changed everything, the news flashing in bold block letters that there'd been a murder suicide, that countless of lives were in peril because society had lost one of its best. She could see Andromache's work in the absence of proof, in the clean execution, in the way that there seemed to be no link to Merrick and anything untowardly. It was the silence and the outrage at Merrick's death that screamed of Andromache. And Quynh knew that a few years from then, someone would realize the good that came from the end of Merrick Pharmaceuticals. 

She had gotten to her money by then, stopped by all the secret stashes that she left behind before falling to the sea. She had time and she knew she wanted to see them again. All of them. So she went looking, bribing her way through officers assigned to Merrick's case, pulling information from where she could until she ran into Randy. He looked at her and wanted to help, to understand. In him lived the thirst for knowledge, this unfettered thing that reminded her so much of Joe, she ached with how much she missed him. 

She projected, perhaps. 

Randy was easy to talk to, charming and handsome. He could get into places she couldn't with his shiny CIA badge and his way with words. He got her just enough information for her to dig on her own, to pull the files from what was left of Merrick Pharmaceuticals. She got there first because she knew what to look for, the signs of immortality in the precise placement of the bodies. The police knew, too, that it was impossible that Merrick had killed so many and then killed himself. They'd even started an investigation and then, miraculously, they closed the case as a murder suicide. 

Finding Copley from there was easy.

She didn't have to push hard. Randy knew him from when Copley worked with the CIA. Even better, Randy already liked him, already willingly spent time with him. So she asked Randy, and because they knew each other some by then, he told her. Nothing too important. She never knew where Copley lived or what he liked, or who he worked for. She only knew that he was important to Randy, that he asked for impossible-to-solve cases and came back with solutions. That sometimes he hired out for the harder missions. 

And because the truth was there for her to take, she went for it. She dug until she found the videos, until she saw Nile Freeman with her own eyes. She watched her in grainy video, in sharp detailed focus, in the testimonials from the pedestrian who swore they saw Merrick jump. She tracked her down with single-minded focus, found her commanding officer, her fellow soldiers, her mother and brother. She learned all that she could about her, until her dreams were filled with the Afghanistan desert and the slice of a blade across a giving throat. She felt Nile Freeman breathe her last breath in her dreams, that rasping gasp for air, and the sudden burn of her rebirth, wild and out of control. 

She dreamed of Booker next, his surprise as he opened his eyes with the rope still around his neck. He froze more times than Quynh could count, laid down over and over and got up again and again. He knew what it was like to lose the air in one's lungs, to wake and go and wake and go until it drove them both mad. He too woke afraid but with a desperate need to reach his family. He knew what it was like to wake to nothing. He knew what it was like to want everything. 

She chose him for a reason. 

Long before she let slip to Randy the details of Nile's survival, she picked Booker. She chose him at the beginning, when she was buying property in Switzerland and setting up her own pharmaceutical company. She did it, in the beginning, because she wanted Andromache to recognize her, to find what she'd made and come to her. It was her continuation of the same voiceless scream she'd started underwater. 

But it did nothing. It did less than nothing. Andromache never turned her way and by the time it occurred to Quynh that she could just go to her, it was already too late. She'd found Dr. Kozak's files by then, the notes on the things she did to Nicky and Joe, what she planned to do to Andromache and Booker. There was no information on Nile Freeman even though she was the most obvious, the one whose face was in videos and photographs. 

Quynh lost herself to the research, to Kozak's inability to replicate their healing, the notes on neverending telomeres. Immortals, Kozak postulated, were capable of infinite regeneration and not immune from death. It's all in the telomeres, Kozak seemed to say. The little caps to the DNA that disappear in humans until they get short enough to produce wrinkles, to show aging, progressively shortening until they are no more. Not exactly leading to death, but to age. Immortals just don't age, Kozak's research stated. Immortals regenerate until something clicks and they no longer do. 

Which made it a simple jump from there. Once Quynh saw the basics, it was natural to be curious, to read until she understood enough. She was like Joe in that way, hungry to know everything she could, to understand the workings of the world. She learned so that she would never be surprised, so that there would never be anyone with more tools than her at their disposal. In that way, she and Joe were not alike. He learned for the sake of learning. She learned intending to use her knowledge as a weapon. 

When continuing Kozak's work became too much, she hired experts, told them she was doing experimental research, bought them with money and promises of a great future. They were like Randy, eager to talk, to learn, to take the money and do something with it. At first, she told herself, she was just passing the time, following the desire to expand on the knowledge that had come to her hands. But, perhaps it was always revenge, her way of lashing out at Andromache for not noticing her, for not looking for her, for forgetting her. She watched as her scientist created things meant to destroy people and then, she let them loose in the world.

The secondary effects were a mistake, the euphoria, the sense of invincibility. She never meant for anyone to feel superhuman. But her scientists were proud of what they'd created. They spoke of government grants, of contracts with the CIA, how easily a little pill could kill and disguise the crime. After all, who would think to question a natural death, especially when the body matched the cause.

She didn't give the pills a name until she saw Andromache for the first time in over five centuries. It was a happy accident. Quynh was meeting with Randy in São Paulo at the same time that Andromache was on a mission. Quynh saw Nile first, the spill of her braids as she ran through the streets, the pop of gunfire close behind her. She was nothing like Quynh remembered from her dreams, all of her coiled with grace as she leapt across the cobblestones, dodging past the people as she made her way to a less crowded street. 

Quynh couldn't follow with Randy there, but she kept her eyes on the street and not long after, came Andromache. She had her hands in her pockets, her hair cut short. A familiar fire burned in her eyes as she walked the streets with obvious concentration, attuned to the changes around her. But there was something different about the way she carried herself, a minute shift that stood out to Quynh like a beacon. 

It was Nile, Quynh found out later, when she finally shook off Randy and went after Andromache. She saw the way Andromache leaned against Nile, how she allowed herself to catch her breath while Nile kept watch. They moved together seamlessly, extensions of each other, back to back or front to back. Even when they were just moving across the Brazilian streets to meet the others, it was as though they knew what the other was thinking without saying a word. 

The thing that hurt the most was that once, that would have been her and Andromache. Once, Quynh knew every expression on Andromache's face, her movements, as though every bit of her was a part of Quynh. She watched them only long enough to understand that she'd been replaced. In her spot at Andromache's side stood Nile and Booker. Because he knew her too, guided Andromache past the crowded streets with a hand at her back. She watched the way they all converged around Andromache, protective. Proprietary.

Quynh was the one who paid the Brazilians to shoot Andromache. She wants to say, now, that it was reflexive, that she didn't stop to think what might happen. But the truth was, even if the people on the plane shot Andromache three hundred times, it wouldn't do anything, wouldn't make her remember Quynh, wouldn't even kill her. She thought it through, thought of the pain of water pressing down on her chest, of being unable to breathe. She thought of day after day not knowing if anyone was coming for her, while Andromache surrounded herself with beautiful people who loved her. 

She wanted it to hurt when Andromache died, wanted it to pain her each and every time, to remember that pain when she woke, gasping for breath. But even though the plane fell, Andromache didn't die, and so Quynh went home alone. Like always.

She chose God Killer because she wanted them to die, because it was easier to be angry than it was to admit that she was hurt. Rage made it easier to think, to plan, to work the pieces of what she was going to do until they formed a whole picture. Her company started making other medication, respectable things that would help them make a name for themselves. The rest she took to the Silvretta Alps, locked it away in a compound aimed at perfecting the God Killer. And because she had nothing to do, because she made up her mind to stop thinking about Andromache, she went to California. She picked the first heiress with the prettiest eyes and went home with her, kissed her and kissed her until she could push back the phantom taste seawater at the back of her throat. Then she put her fingers into Olive Wolf's mouth and pressed the little obsidian pill onto her tongue. 

She only meant to make it hurt, to pay back Andromache for forgetting her. She meant for Olive to feel good, happy, strong. They hadn't worked out the dosage yet, so the first time was an accident and even the second was not entirely her fault. The man pushed too hard, asked for too much. She gave him the pill because it was easier than breaking him apart with her bare hands. But he had a heart condition, something genetic that interfered with the effects of the pill. That time, she left the bottle of obsidian pills on purpose, because she'd already done so by accident with Olive Wolf. Because, perhaps part of her was still waiting for Andromache to find her.

The third woman was on purpose, might even classify as Quynh's fault. Quynh kissed her under dimmed lights, the thumping of the bass beating in time with their hearts as the music played. They were at a party, again in California, where the women were beautiful and rich, where they asked few questions because they liked the way danger made them feel alive. She came with Quynh's fingers inside her, spread out on blue silk sheets, her brown hair covering half her face. When she asked Quynh for a hit, she gave her one of the pills, a low dose, only meant to make her feel good. 

But Quynh left the rest of the pills in the little glass bottle with its crystal stopper, placed it directly on the bedside table. She knew the woman would take them because she'd seen the way she kept eyeing Quynh's pocket the entire night. What Quynh didn't expect was for her to take all of the pills, down to the last one. 

By then, Quynh knew that word wouldn't get back to Andromache. There were more important things in the world than heiresses who took too many pills. Besides, the bodies were unrecognizable, age hiding the evidence. She told Randy because no one would have come otherwise, because AQ Pharmaceuticals wasn't big enough to pose a threat, because she got tired of waiting for Andromache to see her. Because no matter what form the pills took, liquid or not, no matter how effective she made them, no one would care. The same way no one had cared when the sea swallowed her whole.

She was angry for so many reasons that they became irrelevant. She only knew that rage lived within her bones and evaporated the taste of the sea. She wanted everything she had before she went into the ocean and knew she could never have it back. When she stopped for a moment, she could only see Booker's hand on Andromache's back, the way Andromache seemed to have passed on her fatigue to him. She saw Nile walking at Andromache's side, how easily Andromache smiled at her. Over and over, reminders that Quynh didn't matter, that she was replaceable, that perhaps Andromache stopped looking simply because she didn't think Quynh was worth it anymore. 

Perhaps, if Quynh thought about it clearly, she might have been able to step away, to try to find a place elsewhere in the world. But by the time she thought to stop, she'd already given Randy the files on Nile, had already whispered that he might want to fingerprint the Olive Wolf's body. She'd suggested that he tell Copley, that he ask all of his questions. By the time Quynh got tired, Andy was already in Switzerland. Quynh had already sent the mercenaries to pick all of them up. By the time Quynh decided to close down the factory in the Silvretta Alps, to destroy all the files and the God Killer, it was too late. The thoughts to end everything had come in doses and had grown too loud for Quynh to ignore. 

It was so easy to transition the pill from just a whim to a means of protection to a means of escape. How easy it was to think of the pills as her salvation once the idea was in her head, to roll it around her thoughts until it consumed her waking days. The idea of a way out crawled into her waking dreams like the water had wormed its way into every part of her body. She could end it all. Finally be free from the way the air still hurts her lungs. 

She was so tired at the end, tired of being angry, of wanting Andromache and not being able to go to her. She was exhausted from the effort it took to wake every day and move the various pieces in her game of chess. She was tired of missing her old life, of flinching from loud noises and needing sunglasses. 

Her first real thought in the world had been that it was monstrous. 

She wondered whether her last would be of peace. 

Now, here they are, Booker on his knees in front of her, listening to her finish her story, the only person who's bothered to stay to the end and he's not even here of his own volition. 

"There's a reason I chose you," she tells Booker. "We are alike in all the ways that matter."

He tugs against the restraints around his wrists, the skin red and raw. He's been trying to escape for the past hour even though Quynh has a gun pointed at his head. She looks down at him, at his blond hair and his angry green eyes. He reeks of defeat, of the same exhaustion that has long since settled into her bones. He's like her in that respect, full of anger at things he cannot change. 

"I'm nothing like you," he says.

But she can tell he doesn't believe his own words. 

"I can give you a way to get back to your family," she tells him. 

She knows she has him when she pulls out the little bottle of pills and puts it on the table to her left. His eyes follow her movement, land perfectly on the little glass bottle, on the two empty rock glasses, the honey-colored whiskey.

"Take the pills," she tells him. "You saw the lab results. You know it'll work. It stops our regeneration. If you take enough, it'll kill you."

His eyes don't move from the obsidian pills. "Why?" he asks. 

Quynh spreads her arms wide as she shrugs. "Perhaps I'm feeling generous," she says. 

Perhaps she doesn't want to die alone. 

She pours a finger of whiskey into each glass on the table and pushes one out toward him. His eyes are still on the little obsidian pills. When he still doesn't say anything, she finally lays the gun on the table, far away enough that she'll still get to it first. Then she unties him, watches him scramble away from her as he gets to his feet. He lunges for her but she's close to the gun, easily lifts it and pulls the trigger.

When he wakes, she's moved him to the bathroom and chained him to the sink. She knows it won't hold for long but she wants him to choose this freely, to know that when he takes the pill, it'll have been his decision alone. She leaves the pills and the whiskey by his feet.

As she turns to go, she says, "if you want to be dramatic about it, you only need to take three pills. Then the next time someone kills you, you just won't come back. Six for death. One for fun. Your choice."

She's almost across the bathroom threshold when she hears the sound of smashed glass as the bottle of pills hits the wall next to her head. She looks down at her feet, at the spill of obsidian pills and the shattered glass. She turns slowly. 

"No," Booker says.

Then, as though that single word has cost him everything, he throws back the shot of whiskey and slumps against the wall. 

"A shame," Quynh says, kicking away the ruined bottle. 

It really is a shame, she thinks, as she shuts the bathroom door behind her. She should have asked what he wanted before she served him the whiskey. But she assumed he would understand, that he, like her, would make the right choice. It's too bad she has a gala to attend, otherwise she'd do him a favor and shoot him again.

After all, he never stopped to think that the God Killer in liquid form looks exceptionally like whiskey.


	11. The End

_Sunday, 8 October 2021  
2115_

There were times over the centuries when Andromache would wake covered in sweat, her hands grasping for the fading outline of an iron coffin. She always woke out of breath, sympathy pains as she imagined Quynh alone at the bottom of the sea. She used to dream of the waters drying, leaving behind nothing but solid ground for her to traverse. In her dreams, she never found Quynh, only the promise of her in the heat of the sun on the top of her head and the lone pair of horses in the distance. Sometimes, she dreamed the bow and arrow, that sharp whip of air that meant Quynh was nearby and keeping watch. If it was a particularly good dream, Andromache woke with the taste of Quynh on her lips and the memory of her fingers running through Andromache's hair. She sometimes dreamed of the stars against the dark sky, how she and Quynh lay together in the hard earth and watched the night pass. She was never cold with Quynh at her side. Not the way she is now, shivering in her trousers and shirt as she follows Quynh away from the reception.

They pass through the doorway and into a large foyer with stairs leading to the other floors. Andromache can't take her eyes away from the slope of Quynh's shoulders, the form-fitting red dress with its flowing skirt, and the fall of her side-swept dark hair. Her hands itch at her side, a part of her thinking she still has a right to touch, to press her fingers into the center of Quynh's back in reassurance. 

She hasn't even thought of Booker when Nile says, "Where is he?"

Quynh doesn't falter as she starts climbing the stairs, her heels clicking on the shining wood steps as she holds up the front of her dress. 

Andromache can hear the click of Nile's belt as she checks for her gun. 

"Quynh," Andromache says.

She doesn't know where she gets the courage, where she gets off thinking she has any right in addressing Quynh now. But she can see that whatever's in her voice makes Quynh pause just enough that Andromache can pretend she still cares. 

"Is Booker okay?"

It happens in an instant, just the barest readjustment of Quynh's steps on the stairs, but Andromache knows she's said the wrong thing. She knows the way Quynh can shut down, how she wraps herself in perfect posture and a carefully neutral expression when she's hurt, when she and Andromache fight. She wants to do something to ease the pain Quynh carries, but she knows she has no right. There's really nothing for her to say that will make anything okay. The fact is Quynh stayed at the bottom of the sea and Andromache got to live her life, got to meet Booker and Nile, got to see them become part of the family she had with Joe and Nicky. She even got to become mortal, to feel the way her bones ache and her joints complain when she pushes herself too hard. 

She got to live and Quynh died again and again. And Andromache didn't even have the courtesy to recognize the signs when they were right in front of her face. Only Joe, Nicky, and Quynh ever knew that Andromache went by Anne Langley. She only ever used the name once and never again. She didn't even have papers drawn up with it. She should've remembered in Germany, shouldn't have pushed aside the painful hope that bloomed in her chest. And even if she didn't know in Germany, she knew it felt personal, and even when she started to suspect after seeing the AQ logo, she let it slide. She should have come as soon as she had some inkling that it was Quynh. She should have been here before Booker.

It takes until they're on the second floor, walking down the shining hallways to the door at the end. As they pass the other rooms, Andromache catches glimpses of office desks and computers, labs with the lights dimmed. Everything in the hallway is so white, so antiseptically clean, the smell of disinfectant fluid prominent as they make their way down the hall. If she didn't know any better, she would say she was back at Merrick Pharmaceuticals.

Except the door at the end turns out to lead an office with an open-floor concept, floor-to-ceiling windows directly across from them. The walls are a soft white that brighten up the room, giving the illusion that there's light everywhere. The desk across from the windows and the bookshelves on either side of the door are made of the same dark wood. Aside from the desk, there's very little in the space. To the far right there's a single unmarked door made of light wood that matches the floor. It's an empty, expensive office, which means that the open bottle of whiskey on the desk was left there on purpose.

"Where's Booker?" Nile asks again.

But she doesn't make a move and Andromache realizes it's for her sake. None of them are acting, even though, had it been anyone else, this would already be over. The fact that it's Quynh changes everything, and Andromache knows she has to be the one to fix this. Whatever it takes.

"Quynh," she says, moving forward.

Quynh steps away from her easily, her back turned to them all, so sure that no one is going to hurt her. She doesn't even have a gun. No bow and arrows. No sword to defend herself. She's in a red dress with loose skirts, wearing high heels, and facing away from the only two doors in the room. She walks slowly to the desk, touching the whiskey bottle. She shoves it aside and puts both hands on the wood, her shoulders shaking as she stands here. 

Andromache moves without thinking, crossing the distance between them in three quick strides. She's almost to Quynh, her hand shaking as she stretches it out to reach for Quynh's shoulder.

"Andy," Nile says in warning, and it's the uncertainty in her tone that makes Andromache pause. 

"It's okay," she says, turning enough to give Nile a reassuring smile. "It's going to be all right."

She doesn't know what she must look like to cause that flash of sadness over Nile's face, the hint of pity as she looks from Andromache to Quynh's back. 

"Okay," Nile says, stepping back to stand next to Joe. "Do what you gotta do."

What she has to do is apologize, fall at Quynh's feet and ask for forgiveness. She should have kept looking, fruitless though it would have been. She should have told the world to fuck off much earlier. It wasn't like she was living in it anyway. It wasn't like she ever thought the world deserved the things they did for it. Until Nile came and changed everything. Until Andromache started to believe the lie that she could live, really, truly live, because she would find rest at the end. 

But she knew, she always knew it was too good to be true. Living was what Nile did, the constant struggle to be herself, to discover who that is. Living was Joe waking up each morning, singing under his breath as he made them all breakfast. Living was Nicky, sitting on the floor with his back against Joe's legs, watching the sunset, listening to them as they complained about their lives. Living was what Booker was trying to do, how he settled at Nile's side, how he cared about Andromache and Nile both. He didn't know, but a person lived when they started to invest in others, when they gave parts of themselves away.

Andromache doesn't live. She pretends, giving enough of herself away that people think they know her. She gives more to Nile because Nile is open and honest, gives herself to them and deserves the same courtesy in return. She was trying thanks to Nile, thanks to Booker's refusal to let her get away with saying nothing. For them, she was trying. But if she's honest, that's not who she is.

She's this, now, broken pieces finally coming together as she looks at the fall of Quynh's hair. There, in front of her, dressed in red, is her home. 

"Quynh," Andromache says, putting her hand on Quynh's bare shoulder. "Where's Booker?"

She has a moment to register the warmth of Quynh's shoulder, the smoothness of her skin, and the soft silk of her dress. Quynh turns quickly, her movements sharp and clean. Andromache doesn't even notice her right hand until she feels a sharp pain on her right side, just below her ribs. She looks down confused, frowning as she sees Quynh's hand around a golden letter opener that's sticking out of Andromache's side. She looks up and Quynh steps closer, twisting her wrist as she goes, making the cut bigger. 

"Andy," Joe shouts from behind her.

Quynh lets go deliberately, opening each of her fingers one by one and lifting her hand away. She looks disgusted, not at what she's done, but at Andromache, at the way she stumbles back and away. Andromache turns, pretending that the ache in her chest is from the wound and not from the way Quynh so very clearly can't stand to touch her. 

"Don't," she says, one hand on the handle of the letter opener, the other out to warn everyone back. 

She hisses as she presses down on the skin around the letter opener, the blood already soaking through her shirt. She can hear Quynh turning away, the clicking of her heels against the wooden floor. She's going for the other door in the room. Andromache exhales shakily, trying to push past the pain at her side. She doesn't know what major organs are on that side, hasn't thought past letting the others do their own research on how to keep her safe. 

"Don't pull that out," Nicky says, getting to her side first.

She nods, looking up to find Nile and Joe. Nile's pulled her gun out and is pointing it at the door Quynh walked through. Joe shrugs off his jacket and reaches for Nicky's boot. He finds the knife easily, using it to cut strips off his jacket. He hands them to Nicky and goes around the desk to pull the rolling chair toward Andromache. They sit her far away from the desk, from the door Quynh walked through. Neither of them are saying anything as Nicky inspects her wound, his fingers pressing down to check the area.

"I think we should be okay," he says.

He looks at Andromache as he says it, asking for her permission. She looks back to Nile, the set of her shoulders. She hasn't followed Quynh even though she still has Booker. So it's still on Andromache to fix this. To make it right for them.

"Do it," she says. 

Nicky tugs the letter opener out without warning, his movement easy and steady. He presses a balled up piece of Joe's suit jacket to the wound and presses down hard. He looks up at Andromache with careful eyes, blinks slowly at her as if waiting for her to explain. 

"It's Quynh," she says, simply. 

He nods and stands, putting Andromache's hands over the wound, waiting until she's pressing hard enough. He wipes his hands on what's left of Joe's jacket and then the two of them split up, Joe going to the door they walked through, pulling out his gun from his shoulder holster. He opens the door a crack to look out and closes it, his back to the wood as he surveys the room. Nicky walks past Nile to the other door, and she hands him her gun as he goes. She reaches for the second one strapped to her back easily, her stance never wavering. 

"On three," Nile says. 

Andromache doesn't say anything because she knows it wouldn't be fair. Besides, she trusts them not to hurt Quynh. For her. 

"One," Joe says. 

"Two," Nile continues.

They never get to three. The door opens and Andromache catches a glimpse of a tiled bathroom. She hears crunching glass as Booker steps out wearing jeans and gray t-shirt. He looks tired but no worse for wear, his hair in disarray, and his expression carefully neutral. Behind him is Quynh, a Glock cocked and pointed at the back of Booker's head. 

"Tell them," she says, jabbing Booker's head with her gun. 

"Don't shoot," he says, sounding pissed off. "Or do, but not at me."

Nobody moves, though Andromache can see the gears turning in Nile's head, the way she tilts her head just a bit to the side as she eyes Booker and Quynh. Nicky has a clear shot and it's not like anyone but Andromache needs to worry about stray bullets. She can already see the outcome, the blood, the rush to subdue Quynh before she comes back, and Andromache can't do it. She can't sit and watch Qunyh's body hurt after all this time.

"Wait," she says. 

Quynh looks at her over Booker's shoulder, that flash of pure rage on her eyes for a moment before she puts it all away behind a carefully blank mask. Quynh sighs, the sound loud in the sudden silence of the room.

"It was in the whiskey," she says. 

Booker turns to the bottle on the desk, his eyes going wide as he sees it. "No," he says, quietly. "I told you no."

"I didn't know you were going to say no," Quynh says. "But it's too late now."

"Too late for what?" Nile asks. 

Quynh doesn't answer as she jabs the back of Booker's skull again. He goes, seemingly aware of what he's meant to do even without Quynh's instructions. Nile turns easily, her hands steady as she follows Quynh with her own handgun. Nicky adjusts his aim and they all watch as Quynh places a little bottle of obsidian pills on the desk next to the whiskey bottle.

"I burned everything down. Got bored of waiting," she says, nudging Booker's shoulder with her gun. "What's in this room is all we have left."

He kneels down without a word, his eyes on Andromache before sliding to Joe. She watches him, trying to understand what he's saying from the set of his mouth. There's something horribly wrong. Andromache looks at Booker then to the pills on the table, the honey-colored bottle of whiskey, the same color as the syringe Joe took off the guard in Munich. She remembers the documents Booker sent over, the failed trials, the dosages. 

"No," Andromache says, dawning horror at the realization. 

Booker presses his lips tightly together. "I didn't know," he says. "She's been trying the pills on herself. There was another file at the lab that I couldn't send before the explosion. If you take enough of the pills, the regeneration stops and we can die. She's aging. That's how she knows they work."

"The liquid is easier," Quynh says, tapping the butt of her gun to Booker's shoulder. "The pills have the nasty side effect of being easily identified. But a liquid is a liquid, flavorless, impossible to tell it's there when you mix it with a little whiskey."

No one says a word. Eventually, Quynh turns to Andromache, sees her sitting on the chair, the jacket she has pressed to her side. She frowns but the worry slips off her face a moment later. 

"I have an offer," she says, looking directly at Andromache when she continues. "Take the pills or the whiskey. Come with me and I shut everything down. I already started. I gave full control of the company to Steven. You met him at the lab. He'll know what to do. The pills were only ever to get your attention, anway. What do I care what happens to AQ Pharmaceuticals now? All I ever wanted was for you to look for me, Andromache. All I wanted was for you to find me."

"Quynh," Andromache says.

She's shaking, pushing herself off the chair to stand. She can feel the skin around her wound pull as she takes a step forward. 

"There's enough for everyone," Quynh says, her voice oddly subdued, almost shy. 

Andromache inhales shakily. She can picture Quynh on a battlefield, covered in blood but grinning, victorious. She's always been speed and danger, crafty and clever as she moved against stronger opponents. She's not this uncertain person before them all, asking for them to stay with her as though Andromache wouldn't do everything in her power to make it so. As if it hasn't been her dream to find Quynh and grow old with her.

"I'll come with you," Andromache says. "Just let Booker go."

It's the wrong thing to say. Andromache knows it from the moment the words leave her mouth. She sees the flash of anger on Quynh's face, hears Joe's shout, and knows she has to make it across the room as fast as possible. She doesn't even get two steps before the crack of gunfire breaks across the room, leaving an awful silence. It's quiet enough to hear the thump that Booker's body makes against the wooden floor, the click of Quynh's heels as she steps over him, going around the desk so that it stands between her and the rest of them. 

They wait, the minutes ticking by as they all look at Booker, waiting for him to gasp back to live. They wait and wait, and nothing happens. Andromache looks at Quynh, at the nonchalance on her face, the disregard for what's she done. She stands aloof, checking her gun as though she's looking at her nails. She sets it down on the desk, finally looking up at them. She makes sure Andromache's watching when she shrugs. 

"One less for you to worry about," she says. "Six pills each, or three fingers of whiskey, and it'll be just you and me, Andromache. The way it was before. Don't you want that?"

Andromache looks at the careful mask on Quynh. She knows this isn't forgiveness. Which means that it's true. 

Booker is dead.

It hits them all one after the other. Nile gets it first, her eyes going from Quynh to Andromache, to the pills on the table. It hits Andromache next, the fact that Booker isn't standing, that Quynh looks unconcerned. She inhales and the air feels like fire, sticking in her throat as she tries to take a full breath. Her fingers are cold around the cloth she's pressing into her wound. She's not thinking of herself when she drops it, her eyes finally going to Booker, face-down on the ground, his head tilted to one side, his lips going pale.

He's not getting up, which means it worked. Which means that low agonizing cry is coming from one of them, something pained and heartbreakingly sad. She can't tell if it's Nile or Joe, knows only that she has to make it to Booker's side. Peripherally, she sees Nile going for the table, hears the tell-tale click of a loaded gun. She turns to see Nile pointing it at Quynh, who isn't moving. 

Nicky's the one to stop Nile, his hand catching the side of her gunarm on a downward swing, knocking the crystal bottle to the floor as he does, pills scattering at their feet. They struggle, Nile diving downwards while Nicky yanks her up. There's screaming, something deep and guttural, and Andromache can't tell which of them it's coming from. There's madness everywhere as Nicky holds Nile against him and Joe turns toward Andromache. She doesn't know how to answer the pain in his eyes so she looks away, her eyes landing on Booker on the ground. Andromache looks away from the wound on his head, focusing instead on his closed eyes. 

From this distance, he could be sleeping. 

She goes to him, even as she hears a quiet grunt from Nicky that means Nile's pulled free. 

_Someone should be with Booker_ , Andromache thinks. 

When she gets to him, she drops to her knees at his side, reaching out to touch him until she notices the blood on her hands. It's hers, thick and warm as it spills from her open wound, staining her shirt, Joe's jacket, and Booker's cheek. She pushes his hair away from his face and tries not to flinch at how cold he is. She stays by his side as chaos reigns above her because she has to, because he didn't deserve to die alone. She reaches out just in case, touches her fingers to his neck and feels nothing. 

She looks up at Quynh and catches the tail end of sorrow in her expression.

Finally, she understands.

"Why did you do this?" Andromache asks.

She can hear the defeat in her voice, even as the tears fall down her cheeks. She's still stroking Booker's hair, the stands matted with his blood. 

"I wanted to help him," Quynh says. "I thought it was what he wanted. It's not my fault he changed his mind."

She opens her mouth to say more but decides against it. Andromache inhales, dizzy and cold. She thinks she's going into shock, her hands shaking as she crouches low at Booker's side. She can hear Nile's muffled cursing, hears Nicky's quiet answer. She looks up in time to see Nile pulling away from him, bringing her gun around in one smooth motion. Andromache moves without thinking, standing and crossing the room until she's in front of Quynh.

"Andy?" Nile asks, the betrayal clear in her expression.

Andromache turns her back to Quynh so that she's looking at Nile, at Joe who's kneeling by Booker's side, his fingers pushing back Booker's hair as he whispers to him. When she finds Nicky's eyes, his expression is hard, face blank, and for the first time, Andromache can't read him. His fingers twitch on the gun he's holding at his side and then, slowly, he lets his drop. Nile turns back to look at him and it's enough for Andromache to make her way toward her. She's so trusting it's nothing to walk right into her space, to break her grip on the gun and pull it away. 

Andromache's back by Quynh's side when Nile registers what happened. It's easier to accept her angered betrayal the second time around. Andromache has made her choice, after all. 

"You can't be serious," Nile says, angrier than Andromache has ever seen her. "She killed Booker."

"I know," Andromache says. 

There's nothing else she could say that would make anything right. 

"Why?" Nile asks.

Because she doesn't know, because she's new and strong and brave. Because she'll outlive them all and thrive. Because she's everything Andromache wants to be and no longer is.

Andromache opens her mouth to try and explain the millennia that run in her bones, the way every part of her memory that matters has Quynh in it in some way. She wants to say that Quynh is family, but the comparison is imprecise. Nile, Joe, Nicky, Booker, they're all family. Quynh is an extension of Andromache. She's all the pieces that were missing, the edges that fill the jagged ends of Andromache's being. 

There are no words for all that Quynh means to her. Everything Andromache could say is inadequate, so she says nothing.

The silence that follows is awful, so unbearably pleading that it takes a moment for Andromache to place the sudden sound that breaks it. It's like a rush of wind through an enclosed space, high pitched and whooshing. When she realizes it's a wet inhale, she stops breathing, waiting to hear the pained groan, the hard exhale of coming back to life. 

Joe's the closest, his hands on Booker's back.

It's been fifteen minutes and thirteen seconds since he died when Booker pushes himself up to his knees and says, "Ow."

Joe's laugh is loud and beautiful, full of relief and a little breathless as it echoes in the open office space. "There you are, you ungrateful fuck," he says.

Booker laughs, screwing up his face in pain as he reaches for the back of his head. He gives a low whistle when he sees the pool of blood beneath him. He winces as Joe pulls him into a tight hug, his eyes steady as they meet Andromache's over Joe's shoulders. There's nothing in Booker's expression as he sees Andromache standing in front of Quynh, putting herself between her and the guns pointed at them. 

"Are you okay?" Booker mouths. 

Andromache shrugs and the quiet understanding in his eyes is enough. He knows they're never a hundred percent okay. 

Booker's eyes flick down to Andromache's side where her blood has soaked through her shirt. She's still cold, standing because she's the only thing between Quynh and that contemplative look in Nile's eyes.

"Are you okay, Booker?" Nicky asks. 

Booker says yes and Andromache's still looking at Nile, too concentrated on that disappointed look in her eyes, as though Andromache's let her down. She wants Nile to understand why she's doing this because, if she goes with Quynh, she knows she's not coming back. This moment, Andromache choosing Quynh and therefore rejecting the others, might be the last thing Nile remembers of her, and Andromache can't let her go thinking she doesn't care. Or that she'd throw them away for the first pretty face that walks by. It's infinitely more complicated than that, but Nile could never know. 

Andromache's never explained. She keeps things close to heart, burying them where they can't hurt her, refusing to give anyone ammunition over her. She's never regretted that decision more than she does at this moment, looking at the sorrow on Nile's face. She moves without thinking, stepping toward Nile, one hand out in an attempt to placate her. 

From behind her, Quynh's voice is low and angry as she says, "Don't you care about what I did? Don't you want to know why it didn't work?"

Booker makes a disgusted noise. "Because there's no cure to this shitty existence. Because we have to make due with what we're given." He pauses as though unsure of how to get the next words out, but he makes sure he's looking at Joe when he says them. "Because we don't get to decide when we die. We just get to choose how we live and what family we surround ourselves with."

Andromache looks at them, the soft exasperated smile on Joe's face as he pats Booker on the shoulder. She watches Nicky cross the room to them, sees him kneel on the floor next to Booker, the careful way he checks to make sure Booker's okay. They so obviously have each other, it sets an ache in Andromache's chest that she can't identify. She looks at them, back to Nile, and feels the distance between them growing larger, ever-expanding as Andromache watches Nile sidestep to stand between Andromache and Joe, Nicky, and Booker.

The invisible line is in the few feet of wooden floor between them. There is a choice to be made here. But Andromache is exhausted, her legs finally giving out as she crumples to the ground. Nile strides across the room to her, heedless of Quynh. Her hands are warm as she pats down Andromache's side, reaching blindly for the nearest rag. Nile presses it into Andromache's side, holding it firm.

"Are you all right?" she asks.

Her voice is still so soft and soothing. It doesn't betray anything.

"I'm sorry," Andromache says.

She means for everything, but Nile just shakes her head. She looks like she wants to say something but Quynh is still in the room, still watching.

"What's wrong with her?" Quynh asks. 

She doesn't direct her question at Andromache but Andromache knows she's meant to answer. 

"She's bleeding out," Nile says, her face carefully neutral.

"Nile," Andromache warns, even though she knows it's too late, there's no way Quynh won't notice.

Whatever patience Nile was still holding onto seems to have run out because she looks very carefully at Quynh and says, "She can't heal anymore. We need to get her to a hospital."

Quynh says absolutely nothing, doesn't make a sound as Andromache waits for the wave of nausea to pass. When she can, she turns sideways and sits fully on the floor, her hand pressing down on her wound, her back to the side of the desk. She can look up at Quynh from the floor, can almost feel her trembling from how close they are. 

There's clear regret and disappointment in Quynh's face before she shoves it down. Her next exhale is shaky as she takes a step to the side, her hand sliding on the desk as she holds onto it for support. She looks lovely in her red dress, everything about her bringing back all the memories Andromache hasn't dared touch over the years. She's so close, so very much what Andromache wants, and as she settles, Quynh's words from before finally register.

"Wait," Andromache says. "You said the pills don't work. What do you mean they don't work? Why are you aging?"

She doesn't dare hope, doesn't think that she could be lucky enough to find Quynh and be able to grow old with her because the world has willed it so. If it were true, she might almost begin to believe again, to think that something is watching out for her. But Quynh's laughter is low and hard as she stares down at the desk. 

"I'm not dying," she says. "I just wanted you to think I was. I...I wanted you to see me, to really see me, after all this time. And then, I got carried away, got caught up in waiting for you, in how much I wanted to see you again so that I could hurt you. Hurt them. "

"Why?" Andromache asks. 

Quynh looks at her, the disgust evident in her face. She snarls, her hands balling into fists as she takes the whiskey glass off the desk and hurls it at the wall. It shatters, some of the rebounded glass hitting Andromache's arm. She hears the click of Nicky's handgun and she knows she has to get ahead of this before anyone else gets hurt. 

She shifts onto her knees, taking Nile's arm as they stand together. Once she's on her feet, she turns to Booker, takes him in from head to toe. Of all of them, he's understood her best. He recognizes the self-loathing that's consumed Andromache since Quynh went underwater. He knows what it's like to want someone back so much it burns through everything a person is. But Booker's finally chosen his own family, stands next to Joe, his eyes already sliding past Andromache and over to Nile. 

It seems as though all of their choices are made. 

"Book, you going to be all right?" she asks.

Quynh makes another noise in the back of her throat, angry and frustrated. "That's why I did it," she says, gesturing at Booker, at Nile, at Joe and Nicky. "Because I wanted you to care."

Her voice breaks on the last word and the fight goes out of her. She falls to her knees, her pretty dress ripping as her knee gets stuck in the hem. 

"You don't care unless it's them," she says. "That's why I did it. I was at the bottom of the sea for centuries and you moved on. Got yourself two pretty new immortals to replace me. You didn't care until I targeted them and hurt them, until I was hurting other people. And after a while, it all seemed so pointless, so worthless to hate you and hate them, and hate everything in this pathetic world that, for a second, I wanted the pills to work. I wanted them to be real, to give me the out I wanted."

Oh, Andromache thinks, how cruel the world turns out to be in the end. On the ground before her is a heartbroken Quynh with a terrible past and all the messy edges that Andromache carries. How unfair that Andromache's ever done anything to make her think that she ever stopped caring. 

"Quynh," she starts, her voice catching.

"Why do you get to die?" Quynh asks, softly. "Why now? Why without me?"

Andromache can feel the sadness like a physical weight, the way it settles into her shoulders, the corners of her mouth. She can feel her years in the ache in her chest, that cavernous echo in her that longs for the past and the future, for Quynh in her arms so that she may soothe all the hurt. 

"You know me," she says, her voice low, wanting to pretend these words are only for Quynh. "I always have to get the last word in."

Quynh looks up in surprise, her mouth falling open as Andromache reaches into her shirt and pulls out Quynh's necklace, the pendant whose twisting ropes frame the border of the AQ Pharmaceuticals logo. AQ like Andromache and Quynh. All of the pieces falling together, Quynh with her every step of the way, her marks on all the stops they made. Andromache feels like a fool for taking so long to notice.

"You haven't even asked who saved me," Quynh says, her eyes locked on the necklace around Andromache's neck. "What I did to her."

"I'm not going anywhere," Andromache says. 

She means it more than she's ever meant anything in her entire life.

"Andy," Nile says from behind her, softly, gently, everything that Andromache's come to depend on. "You need a hospital. We have to go."

Quynh exhales, the pain evident in her eyes as she looks at Andromache. She says nothing as she turns her back on them, her eyes on the windows in front of her, on the moon in the distance. 

Andromache watches her, the slope of her back, and the way she wraps her arms around herself, how she stands in front of her windows in her spacious office, so very alone. 

Andromache turns to Nile, to Booker, to Joe, and to Nicky. Joe and Nicky understand it right away. It takes Booker a little longer but in the end, even he gets it before Nile. 

"Andy, come on," she says, her eyes sliding over to Quynh's back. "We have to leave."

And because Nile is asking, Andromache says, "Quynh, come with us."

When she turns, her eyes are shining with unshed tears. "I'm so tired, Andromache," she says, closing her eyes. "I'm just so tired."

Andromache looks away, back to the others, and finds them all watching her. She doesn't know how to explain that she's not abandoning them, that she loves them with all her heart. But perhaps the sentiments can go unsaid, because Joe hugs her first, hugs her the longest as he presses a kiss into her hair. 

"See you soon," he says.

Nile says nothing as Andromache hugs Nicky and Booker, as she shakes Booker and says, "Live you sad fucker. Live like it means something."

Nile doesn't move as Joe, Nicky and Booker make it to the door. She waits, her eyes on Andromache as the rest of them start to file out into the hallway. 

"Take care of them Nicky," Andromache calls last minute, and she sees Nicky's small smile, just the ghost of indulgence on his face as the door closes behind them.

Then it's just Nile and Andromache and Quynh.

"Nile," Andromache starts, not knowing how she can explain the weight of millennia. 

Nile shakes her head, her eyes hard as she stares Andromache down. "Are you sure?" she asks. 

Andromache smiles, something small and genuine, as the ache in her chest loosens. "They don't need me anymore," she says. "They have you."

Nile nods, looking down at the wound on Andromache's side, her messy clothes. She turns her handgun over and holds it out for Andromache to take. She takes it even though she has no intention of ever using it, the metal warm from where Nile's been holding it. 

"Good," Nile says. "Then I'm going, and you're staying, and one day, I expect that gun back."

Andromache smiles because words aren't enough for how much Nile means to her, how for the rest of her days, Andromache will always think of her. 

"Deal," she says, because the future is a vast expanse of forever, and as she told Booker once, it never hurts to have a little faith. 

Nile's quiet for a moment but when she speaks, she's looking Andromache straight in the eyes. "I need you to know that we're true friends," she says.

Andromache smiles, a genuine thing. "Aristotle," she says, remembering the bet she made with Booker long ago. "True friendship is possible only between two people who love each other because of who they are."

"Right," Nile says. "And don't forget it."

"I won't," Andromache tells her.

Still, Nile doesn't move, her eyes going from Andromache to Quynh. It's obvious she has questions, more things she wants to know, perhaps even more promises she wants made. But the door behind them opens and Booker pokes his head inside the room, his eyes finding Nile.

"Coming, boss?" he asks. 

This time Nile doesn't hesitate, making her way to the door, the beginning of a smile on her face as she says, "Yeah, I'm coming."

Andromache watches her go, the surety in her step, the way she doesn't look back once, until, finally, with a thud of the door, they part ways.


End file.
